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Shame come to Romeo!

Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue,

For fuch a wifh! he was not born to fhame;
Upon his brow fhame is afham'd to fit:

For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd
Sole monarch of the univerfal earth.

O, what a beast was I to chide him so ?

Nurfe. Will you speak well of him, that kill'd your coufin?

Jul. Shall I fpeak ill of him, that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue fhall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours-wife, have mangled it! But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my coufin? That villain coufin would have kill'd my husband. Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe,

Which you, miftaking, offer up to joy.

My husband lives, that Tybalt would have flain;
And Tybalt's dead, that would have kill'd my husband ;
All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then?

Some word there was, worfer than Tybalt's death,
That murther'd me; I would forget it, fain;
But, oh! it preffes to my memory,

Like damned guilty deeds to finners' minds;
Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished!
That banished, that one word banished,
Hath flain ten thousand Tybalts: Tybalt's death
Was woe enough, if it had ended there:
Or if fow'r woe delights in fellowship,
And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,
Why follow'd not, when fhe faid Tybalt's dead,
Thy Father or thy Mother, nay, or both?
But with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death,
Romeo is banished-to fpeak that word,
Is, father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet,
All flain, all dead!- Romeo is banished!·
There is no end, no limit, measure, bound,
In that word's death; no words can that woe found.
Where is my father, and my mother; nurfe?
Nurfe. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's coarfe.

Will you go to them? I will bring you thither.

Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine fhall be spent,

When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment.

Take up thofe Cords;

poor Ropes, you are beguil'd;

Both You and I; for Romeo is exil'd.

He made You for a high-way to my Bed:

But I, a maid, dye Maiden widowed.

Come, Core; come, Nurfe; I'll to my wedding. Bed:
And Death, not Romeo, take my Maidenhead!
Nurse. Hie to your chamber, I'll find Romeo
To comfort you. I wot well, where he is.
Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night;
I'll to him, he is hid at Lawrence' cell.

Jul. Oh find him, give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come, to take his last farewel.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the Monastery.

Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.

Fri. ROMEO, come forth; come forth, thou fearful

man;

Affliction is enamour'd of thy parts,
And thou art wedded to calamity.

Rom. Father, what news? what is the Prince's doom? What forrow craves acquaintance at my hand,

That I yet know not ?

Fri. Too familiar

Is my dear fon with fuch fow'r company.

I bring thee tidings of the Prince's doom.

Rom. What lefs than dooms-day is the Prince's doom? Fri. A gentler judgment vanifh'd from his lips, Not body's death, but body's banishment.

Rom. Ha, banishment! be merciful, fay, death

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For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death. Do not fay, banishment.
Fri. Here from Verona art thou banifhed:
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
Rom. There is no world without Verona's walls,

But

But purgatory, torture, hell it felf..

Hence banished, is banish'd from the world;
And world-exil'd, is death. That banished
Is death mis-term'd calling death banishment,
Thou cut'ft my head off with a golden ax,
And fmil'ft upon the ftroak that murthers me.
Fri. O deadly fin! O rude unthankfulness !
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind Prince,
Taking thy part, hath rusht afide the law,

And turn'd that black word death to banishment..
This is dear mercy, and thou feeft it not.

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heav'n is here,
Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Lives here in heaven, and may look on her;
But Romeo may not. More validity,
More honourable ftate, more courtship lives
In carrion flies, than Romeo: they may feize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And fteal immortal bleffings from her lips;
(Which even in pure and veftal modefty
Still blush, as thinking their own kiffes fin.),
This may flies do, when I from this must fly;
(And fay'it thou yet, that exile is not death?)
But Romeo may not ;
he is banished.

Hadit thou no Poifon mixt, no fharp-ground knife,
No fudden mean of death, tho' ne'er fo mean,
But banished to kill me? banished ?

O Friar, the Damned ufe that word in hell;
Howlings attend it: how haft thou the heart,
Being a Divine, a ghoftly Confeffor,

A fin-abfolver, and my friend profest,
To mangle me with that word, banishment?
Fri. Fond mad-man, hear me fpeak.

Rom. O, thou wilt fpeak again of banishment. Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word, Adverfity's fweet milk, philofophy,

To comfort thee, tho' thou art banished.

Rom. Yet, banished? hang up philosophy ::

Unless philofophy can make a Juliet,

Difplant a town, reverse a Prince's doom,

It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more

Fri. O, then I fee that mad-men have no ears.

Rom. How fhould they, when that wife men have no eyes?

Fri. Let me difpute with thee of thy estate.

Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou doft not feel : Wert thou as young as 1, Juliet thy love,

An hour but married, Tybalt murthered,

Doating like me, and like me banished ;

Then might'ft thou speak, then might'st thou tear thy hair,

And fall upon the ground as I do now,

Taking the measure of an unmade grave.

[Throwing himself on the ground. Fri. Arife, one knocks; good Romeo, hide thy felf. [Knock within. Rom. Not I, unless the breath of heart-fick Groans, Mift-like, infold me from the Search of Eyes. [Knock. Fri. Hark, how they knock !-(who's there?)- Romeo, arife. 'Thou wilt be taken

Run to my Study

(stay a while).

-ftand up;

[Knocks.

(By and by)

God's will!

What willfulness is this? I come, I come. [Knock. Who knocks fo hard? whence come you; what's your will?

Nurfe. [Within.] Let me come in, and you fhall know my errand :

I come from lady Juliet.

Fri. Welcome then.

Enter Nurfe.

Nurfe. O holy Friar, oh, tell me, holy Friar,

Where is my lady's lord ? where's Romeo ?

Fri. There, on the ground, with his own tears made drunk.

Nurfe. O he is even in my miftrefs' cafe,

Juft in her cafe, O woful fympathy!
Pitcous predicament! even fo lies fhe,

Blubb'ring

Blubb'ring and weeping, weeping and blubbering.

Stand up, ftand up;

-Stand, an' you be a Man :

For Juliet's Sake, for her Sake, rise and stand.
Why should you fall into fo deep an oh!

Rom. Nurfe!

Nurfe. Ah Sir! ah Sir!

Death is the end of all.

Rom. Speak'ft thou of Juliet? how is it with her? Doth not the think me an old murtherer,

Now I have ftain'd the child-hood of our joy
With blood, remov'd but little from her own?
Where is the? and how does the ? and what says
My conceal'd lady to our cancell'd love?

Nurfe. O, fhe fays nothing, Sir; but weeps and
And now fails on her bed, and then starts up;
And Tybalt cries, and then on Romeo calls,
And then down falls again.

Rom. As if that name,

Shot from the deadly level of a gun,

Did murther her, as that name's curfed hand

weeps;

Murther'd her kinfman. - Tell me, Friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy

Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may fack

The hateful manfion.

Fri. Hold thy desperate hand:

[Drawing his Sword.

Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote
Th' unreasonable fury of a beast.
Unfeemly Woman in a feeming Man!
And ill-befeeming Beaft in feeming Both!
Thou haft amaz'd me. By my holy Order,
I thought thy difpofition better temper'd.
Haft thou flain Tybalt? wilt thou flay thy felf?
And flay thy lady, that in thy life lives,
By doing damned Hate upon thy felf?

Why rail't thou on thy Birth, the Heav'n, and Earth,
Since Birth, and Heav'n, and Earth, all three do meet
In thee at once, which Thou at once would'ft lofe?
Fie! fie! thou fham'ft thy Shape, thy Love, thy Wit,
Which, like an Ufurer, abound'st in all,
And useft none in that true use indeed,

Which should bedeck thy Shape, thy Love, thy Wit.

Thy

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