To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath
This neighbour air; and let rich mufick's tongue
Unfold th' imagin'd happiness, that both
Receive in either, by this dear encounter.

Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,
Brags of his fubftance, not of ornament:
They are but beggars, that can count their worth;
But my true love is grown to fuch excefs,
1 cannot fum one half of
up

my

wealth.

[work; Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone, Till holy church incorp'rate two in one.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE, The STREET.

Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, and Servants.

BENVOLIO.

I Pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire ;

The day is hot, the Capulets abroad;

And, if we meet, we shall not 'scape a brawl ;
For now these hot days is the mad blood stirring.

Mer. Thou art like one of thofe fellows, that, when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and fays, God send me no need of thee! and, by the operation of the fecond cup, draws it on the drawer, when, indeed, there is no need.

Ben. Am I like fuch a fellow ?

Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as foon mov'd to be moody, and as foon moody to be mov'd.

Ben. And what to?

Mer. Nay, an' there were two fuch, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why

thou

thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more, or a hair less, in his beard, than thou haft: thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reafon but because thou haft hafel eyes; what eye, but fuch an eye, would spy out fuch a quarrel? thy head is as full of quarrels, as an egg is full of meat; and yet thy head has been beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrelling: thou hath quarrell'd with a man for coughing in the ftreet, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the fun. Didft thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Eafter? with another for tying his new shoes with old ribband? and yet thou wilt tutor me for quarrelling!

Ben. If I were fo apt to quarrel as thou art, any man fhould buy the fee-fimple of my life for an hour and a quarter.

Mer. The fee-fimple? O fimple!

Enter Tybalt, Petruchio, and others.

Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets.
Mer. By my heel, I care not.

Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them.
Gentlemen, good-den, a word with one of you.

Mer. And but one word with one of us? couple it with fomething, make it a word and a blow.

Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that, Sir, if you will give me occafion.

Mer. Could you not take fome occafion without giving? Tyb. Mercutio, thou confort'st with Romeo

Mer. Confort! what doft thou make us minstrels! if thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but difcords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that, fhall make you dance. Zounds! confort!

[Laying his hand on his fword. Ben. We talk here in the publick haunt of men : Either withdraw unto fome private place,

Or reafon coldly of your grievances,
Or elfe depart; here all eyes gaze on us.

Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gazes

I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.

C 2

Enter

Enter Romeo.

Tyb. Well, peace be with you, Sir! here comes my man. Mer. But I'll be hang'd, Sir, if he wear your livery: Marry, go first to field, he'll be your follower; Your worship in that fenfe may call him man.

Tyb. Romeo, the love, I bear thee, can afford (19)
No better term than this, thou art a villain..

Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
Doth much excufe the appertaining rage
To fuch a greeting: villain I am none,
Therefore, farewel; I fee, thou know'ft me not.
Tyb. Boy, this fhall not excuse the injuries
That thou haft done me, therefore turn and draw.
Rom. I do protest, I never injur'd thee,
But love thee better than thou canst devise;
Till thou fhalt know the reason of my love.
And fo, good Capulet, (whofe name I tender
As dearly as my own) be fatisfied.

Mer. O calm, difhonourable, vile fubmiffion
Ah! la Stoccata carries it away. (20)
Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?
Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me?

(19) Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford

No better term than this,] This is only Mr. Pope's fophiftication of the text. All the copies in general, that I have feen, read,

Rome, the love I bear thee, &c.

Why then this change? Is Mr. Pope really fo great a poet, and does not know, that the love here ftands for the little or no love, the bate in effect? Is it not frequent in poetry to exprefs things by their contraries; to use promife inftead of threaten, and threaten inftead of promife? I'll quote an inftance from Virgil, because Servius's comment on it explains the practice of this figure.

-me, fors fi qua tuliffet,

Si patrios unquàm remeaffem vietor ad Argos,
Promifi ultorem, & verbis odia afpera movi.

Promifi.] Pro minatus fum, per contrarium dixit: quid minamur mala, promittimus bona. Sic autem Horatius contrà;

Atqui vultus erat multa & præclara minantis, i. e. promittentis. (20) Alla Stucatbo.] This fmells a little too rank of barbarifm for Mercutio, who is no ignorant fellow, but understood at least his own country language, Stoccata is the Italian word for a certain pafs in fencing.

Mer. Good King of cats, nothing but one of your fine lives, that I mean to make bold withal; and as you shall ufe me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your fword out of his pilcher by the ears? Make hafte, left mine be about your ears ere ́it

be out.

Tyh. I am for you.
Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
Mer. Come, Sir, your paffado.

[Drawing.

[Mercutio and Tybalt fight.

Rom. Draw, Benvolio,-beat down their weaponsGentlemen-for fhame, forbear this outrageTybalt-Mercutio-the Prince exprefly hath Forbidden bandying in Verona ftreets. Hold, Tybaltgood Mer cuti:.

Mr. I am hurt

A plague of both the houfes! I am fped:

Is he gone, and hath nothing?

Ben. What, art thou hurt?

[Exit Tybalt.

Mer. Ay, ay, a fcratch, a fcratch; marry, 'tis enough. Where is my page? go, villain, fetch a furgeon. Rom. Courage, man, the hurt cannot be much. Mer. No, 'tis not fo deep as a well, nor fo wide as a church-door, but 'tis enough, 'twill ferve: ask for me to-morrow, and you fhall find me a grave man. I am pepper'd, I warrant, for this world: a plague of both your houses! What? a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to fcratch a man to death? a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetick? why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm, Rom. I thought all for the best.

Mer. Help me into fome houfe, Benvolio,
Or I fhall faint; a plague o' both your
houfes !
They have made worms-meat of me,

I have it, and foundly too. Plague o' your houses!

[Exeunt Mer. and Ben,

Rom. This gentleman, the Prince's near ally,
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt

In my behalf; my reputation ftain'd
With Tybalt's flander; Tybalt, that an hour

C 3

Hath

Hath been my coufin: O fweet Juliet,
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate,
And in my temper foftned valour's steel.

Enter Benvolio..

Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead; That gallant fpirit hath afpir'd the clouds, Which too untimely here did fcorn the earth. Rom. This day's black fate on more days does depend; This but begins the woe, others must end.

Enter Tybalt.

Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.
Rom. Alive in triumph and Mercutio flain ?
Away to heav'n, refpective lenity,

And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now!
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again,

That late thou gav'ft me; for Mercutio's foul
Is but a little way above our heads,

Staying for thine to keep him company:

Cr thou or I, or both, must go with him.

Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didft confort him here, Shalt with him hence.

Rom. This fhall determine that.

Ben. Romeo, away, begone:

[They fight, Tybalt falls.

The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain

Stand not amaz'd; the Prince will doom thee death,

If thou art taken: hence, be gone, away.

Rom. O! I am Fortune's fool.

Ben. Why dost thou stay?

Enter Citizens.

[Exit Romèo.

Cit. Which way ran he that kill'd. Mercutio ?
Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?
Ben. There lies that Tybalt.

Cat. Up, Sir, go with me:

I charge thee in the Prince's name, obey.

Enter