Nor that is not the lark, whofe notes do beat
The vaulty heaven fo high above our heads.
I have more care to ftay, than will to go.
Come death, and welcome! Juliet wills it fo.-
How is 't, my foul? let's talk, it is not day.
Juliet's Refolution.

O bid me leap, rather than marry Paris,
From off the battlements of yonder tower;
Or walk in thievifh ways; or bid me lurk
Where ferpents are; chain me with roaring bears;
Or fhut me nightly in a charnel-house;
O'ercover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones,
With recky thanks and yellow chaplefs fkulls;
And hide me with a dead man in his fhroud-

Things that to hear them told havemademe tremble;
And I will do it without fear or doubt,
To live an unftain'd wife to my fweet love.

Juliet's Soliloquy on drinking the Potion.
Farewel-God knows, when we fhall meet again!
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins,
That almoft freezes up the heat of life:
I'll call them back again to comfort me.-
Nurfe!what fhould the do here?
My difimal fcene I needs must act alone:
Come, phial-what if this mixture do not work

at all?

Muft I of force be married to the county?
No, no! this fhall forbid it-lie thou there.

[Pointing to a dagger.
What if it be a poifon, which the friar
Subtly hath minifter'd, to have me dead;
Left in this marriage he fhould be dishonour'd,
Because he married me before to Romeo?
I fear it is; and yet, methinks, it should not,
For he hath still been tried a holy man :
I will not entertain fo bad a thought.-
How if, when I am laid into the tomb,
I wake before the time that Romeo
Come to redeem me? there's a fearful point!
Shall I not then be ftifled in the vault,

To whofe foul mouth no healthfome air breathes in,
And there die firangled ere my Romeo comes?
Or, if I live, is it not very like

The horrible conceit of death and night,
Together with the terror of the place-
As in a vault, an ancient receptacle,
Where, for thefe many hundred years, the bones
Of all my buried ancestors are pack'd;
Where bloody Tybalt, yet but green in earth,
Lies feft'ring in his throud; where, as they fay,
At fome hours in the night fpirits refort-
Alack! alack! is it not like that I
So carly waking-what with loathfome fmells;
And fhricks, like mandrakes torn out of the carth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad-
O! if I wake, thall I not be diftraught,
Invironed with all the fe hideous fears?
And madly play with my forefathers joints?
And pluck the mangled Tybalt from his throud?
And, in this rage, with fome great kinfman's bone,
As with a club, dath out my defp'rate brains ?
O lock! methinks I fee my coufin's ghoft
Secking out Romeo, that did fpit his body

Upon a rapier's point!-Stay, Tybalt, stay!
Romco, I come! this do I drink to thee.

[She throws herfelf on the bed.

Joy and Mirth turn'd to their Contraries. All things that we ordained festival, Turn from their office to black funeral: Our inftruments, to melancholy bells; Our wedding cheer, to a fad burial feaft; Our folemn hymns to fullen dirges change; Our bridal flow'rs ferve for a buried corfe, And all things change them to the contrary. Romeo's Defcription of, and Difcourfe with, the Apothecary.

› Well, Juliet, I will lie with thee to-night.
Let's fee for means:-O mifchief! thou art swift
To enter in the thoughts of defperate men!
I do remember an apothecary-

And hereabouts he dwells-whom late I noted
In tatter'd weeds, with overwhelming brows,
Culling of fimples; meagre were his looks,
Sharp mifery had worn him to the bones :
And in his needy fhop a tortoife hung,
An alligator fuft, and other skins
Of ill-thap'd fishes; and about his shelves
A beggarly account of empty boxes,
Green earthen pots, bladders, and mufty feeds,
Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roles,
Were thinly fcatter'd to make up a fhow.
Noting this penury, to myfelf I faid—
And if a man did need a poifon now,
Whofe fale is prefent death in Mantua,
Here lives a caitiff wretch would fell it him.
O, this fame thought did but fore-run my need;
And this fame needy man muft fell it me.
As I remember, this fhould be the house.
Being holy-day, the beggar's fhop is fhut.—
What, ho! apothecary!

Enter Apothecary.

Ap. Who calls fo loud?

[poor;

Rom. Come hither, man.-I fee that thou art Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poifon; fuch foon-fpeeding geer, As will difperfe itfelf through all the veins, That the life-weary taker may fall dead; And that the trunk may be difcharg'd of breath As violently, as hafty powder fir'd Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

Ap. Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua's law Is death to any he that utters them.

Rom. Art thou fo bare, and full of wretchedness, And fear'ft to die famine is in thy cheeks; Need and oppreffion ftarveth in thy eyes, Upon thy back hangs ragged mifery; The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law, The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this. Ap. My poverty, but not my will, confents. Rom. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.

Ap. Put this in any liquid thing you will, And drink it off; and, if you had the ftrength Of twenty inen, it would difpatch you ftraight. Rom. There is thy gold; worfe poifon to men's

fouls,

Romeo and Paris.

Par. Stop thy unhallow'd toil, vile Mountague;
Can vengeance be pursued further than death?
Condemned villain! I do apprehend thee:
Obey, and go with me; for thou muft die.
Rom. I muft indeed; and therefore came I
hither.

Good gentle youth, tempt not a defp'rate man;
Fly hence and leave me think upon these gone;
Let them affright thee.-I befeech thee, youth,
Heap not another fin upon my head,
By urging me to fury.-O, be gone!
By heaven, I love thee better than myself;
For I come hither arm'd against myself.
Par. I do defy thy conjurations,
And do attach thee as a felon here.
Rom. Wilt thou provoke me? then have at thee,
boy. [They fight. Paris falls.
Par. O, I am flain! if thou be merciful,
Open the tomb, lay me with Juliet.

[Dies.

Rom. In faith I will let me perufe this face. Mercutio's kinfman, noble County Paris :What faid my man, when my betoffed foul Did not attend him as we rode -I think He told me, Paris fhould have married Juliet: Said he not fo or did I dream it fo? Or am I mad, hearing him talk of Juliet, To think it was fo-O, give me thy hand, One writ with me in four misfortune's book!

my

Romeo's laft Speech over Juliet in the Vault. love! my wife! Death, that has fuck`d the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's enfign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.Tybalt, lieft thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favour can I do to thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain, To funder his that was thine enemy? Forgive me, coufin!-Ah, dear Juliet! Why art thou yet fo fair fhall I believe That unfubftantial death is amorous; And that the lean abhorred monfter keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that, I will ftill ftay with thee; And never from this palace of dim night Depart again; here, here will I remain, With worms that are thy chambermaids-O, here Will I fet up my everlasting reft; And shake the yoke of inaufpicious ftars [laft! From this world-wearied flesh.-Eyes, look your Arms, take your last cmbrace! and lips, O you The doors of breath, feal with a righteous kifs A datelef's bargain to engroffing death!Come, bitter conduct! come, unfav'ry guide! Thou defp'rate pilot, now at once run on The dafhing rocks thy fea-fick, weary bark!

I

The Grace of a Cynic Philofopher.
Immortal gods! I crave no pelf;
pray for no man but myself:
Grant I may never prove fo fond,
To truft man on his oath or bond;
Or a harlot, for her weeping;
Or a dog, that feems a-fleeping;
Or a keeper, with my freedom;
Amen! fo fall to 't.
Or my friends, if I thould need 'em.
Rich men fin, and I eat root.

A faithful Steward.

When all our offices have been oppreft
So the gods blefs me,

With riotous feeders; when our vaults have wept
With drunken fpilth of wine, when every room
Hath blaz'd with lights, and bray'd with minftrelfy;
I have retir'd me to a wasteful cock,
And fet mine eyes at flow.

The Ingratitude of Timon's Friends.
They anfwer, in a joint and corporate voice,
That now they are at fall, want treasure, cannot
Do what they would; are forry-you are ho-
nourable-

But yet they could have with'd-they know not→
Something hath been amifs-a noble nature
May catch a wrench-would all were well-'tis
pity-

And fo, intending other ferious matters,
After diftafteful looks, and thefe hard fractions,
With certain half-caps, and cold-moving nods,
They froze me into filence.

Tim. You gods, reward them!-
Pr'ythee, man, look cheerly: thefe old fellows
Have their ingratitude in them hereditary:
Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it feldom flows;
'Tis lack of kindly warmth, they are not kind;
And nature, as it grows again toward earth,
Is fashion'd for the journey, dull, and heavy.
Against Duelling.

Your words have took fuch pains, as if they

labour'd

Obedience fail in children! flaves, and fools,
Pluck the grave wrinkled fenate from the bench,
And minifter in their fteads! to general filths
Convert o' the inftant, green virginity!
Do't in your parents eves! Bankrupts, hold faft;
Rather than render back, out with your knives,
And cut your trufers throats! Bound fervants,
fteal!

Large-handed robbers your grave mafters are,
And pill by law! Maid, to thy master's bed;
Thy miftrefs is o' the brothe!! Son of sixteen,
Pluck the lin'd crutch from thy old limping fire,
With it beat out his brains! Piety and fear,
Religion to the gods, peace, juftice, truth,
Domeftic awe, night-reft, and neighbourhood,
Inftruction, manners, myfteries, and trades,
Degrees, cbfervances, cuftoms, and laws,
Decline to your confounding contraries,
And yet confufion live!-Plagues incident to men,
Your potent and infectious fevers heap
On Athens, ripe for ftroke! Thou cold fciatica,
Cripple our fenators, that their limbs may halt
As lamely as their manners. Luft and liberty
Creep in the minds and marrows of our youth;
That 'gainst the ftream of virtue they may ftrive,
And drown themfelves in riot! Itches, blains,
Sow all th' Athenian bofoms; and their crop
Be general leprofy! breath infect breath;
That their fociety, as their friendfhip, may
Be merely poifon Nothing I'll bear from thee,
But nakednefs, thou deteftable town!

And give them title, knee, and approbation,
With fenators on the bench: this is it,
That makes the wappen'd widow wed again;
She, whom the fpitalhouse and ulcerous fores
Would caft the gorge at, this embalms and spices
To the April day again. Come, damned earth,
Thou common whore of mankind, that putt'ft odds
Among the rout of nations, I will make thee
Do thy right nature.

Timon to Alcibiades.

Go on-here's gold-go on;
Be as a planetary plague, when Jore
Will o'er fome high-vic'd city hang his poifon
In the fick air: let not thy fword skip one :
Pity not honour'd age for his white beard;
He is an ufurer. Strike me the counterfeit matron;
It is her habit only that is honeft,

Herfelf's a bawd. Let not the virgin's cheek
Make foft thy trenchant fword; for those milk paps,
That through the window-bars bore at men's eyes,
Are not within the leaf of pity writ;
But fet them down horrible traitors.

the babe.

Spare not

Whofe dimpled fmiles from fools exhaust their mercy:

Think it a baftard, whom the oracle
Hath doubtfully pronounc'd thy throat fhall cut,
And mince it fans remorfe. Swear against objects;
Put armour on thine ears and on thine eyes,
Whofe proof, nor yells of mothers, maids, nor
babes,

Nor fight of pricfts in holy veftments bleeding,
Shall pierce a jot. There's gold to pay thy foldiers:
Make large confufion; and, thy fury pent,
Confounded be thy felf! Speak not, begone.
To the Courtezans.
Confumptions fow
In hollow bones of man; Atrike their fharp fhins,
And mar men's fpurring. Crack the lawyer's voice,
That he may never more falfe title plead,
Nor found his quillets thrilly: hoar the flamen
That fcolds againft the quality of flesh,
And not believes himfelf: down with the nofe,
Down with it flat; take the bridge quite away
Of him that, his particular to forcfee,

Smells from the gen'ral weal: make curl'd-pate ruffians bald,

And let the unfcarr'd braggarts of the war
Derive fome pain from you.

Timon's Reflections on the Eart
That nature, being fick of man's upkindness,
Should yet be hungry! Common mother, thou,
Whofe womb unmeafurable, and infinite breaft,
Teems, and feeds all; whofe felf-fame mettle,
Whereof thy proud child, arrogant man, is puft,
Engenders the black toad, and adder blue,
The gilded newt, and eyelefs venom'd worm,
With all the abhorred births below crifp heaven,
Whereon Hyperion's quickening fire doth fhine;
Yield him, who all thy human fous doth hate,
From forth thy plenteous bofom, one poor root!
Enfear thy fertile and conceptious womb!
Let it no inore bring out ingrateful man!

Ga

On his bonef Steward.

Forgive my gen'ral and exceptiefs rashness,
You perpetual-fober gods! I do proclaim
One honeft man-miltake me not-but one;
No more, I pray-and he is a fteward.
How fain would I have hated all mankind,
And thou redeem'ft thyfelf: but all, fave thee,
I fell with curfes.

Methinks, thou art more honeft now than wife;
For, by oppreffing and betraying me,
Thou might'ft have fooner got another service:
For many fo arrive at fecond matters,
Upon their firft lord's neck.

The birds chaunt melody on every bush; The fnake lies rolled in the cheerful fun; The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind, And make a chequer'd fhadow on the ground: Under their fweet fhade, Aaron, let us fit; And whilft the babbling echo mocks the hounds, Replying thrilly to the well-tun'd horns, As if a double hunt were heard at onceLet us fit down, and mark their yelling noise: And after conflict-fuch as was fuppos'd The wand'ring prince and Dido once enjoy'd, When with a happy ftorm they were furpris'd, And curtain'd with a counfel-keeping caveWe may, each wreathed in the other's arms, Our paftimes done, poffefs a golden flumber; Whiles hounds, and horns, and fweet melodious Be unto us as is a nurte's fong [birds, Of lullaby, to bring her babe afleep.

Vale, a dark and melancholy one defcribed. A barren detefted vale, you fee, it is : The trees, tho' fummer, yet forlorn and lean, O'ercome with mols, and baleful miffeltoe. Here never fhines the fun; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven.

And, when they fhew'd me this abhorred pit, They told me, here, at dead time of the night, A thousand fiends, a thoufanghiring fnakes, Ten thoufand fwelling toads, as many urchins, Would make fuch fearful and confuled cries, As any mortal body, hearing it,

Should ftraight fall mad, or elfe die fuddenly.

6

A Ring, in a dark Pit.

Upon his bloody finger he doth wear A precious ring, that lightens all the hole, Which, like a taper in fome monument, Doth fhine upon the dead man's earthy cheeks, And fhews the ragged entrails of this pit.

Young Lady playing on the Lute and finging. Fair Philomela, fhe but loft her tongue, And in a tedious fampler few'd her mind: But, lovely niece, that mean is cut from thee; A craftier Tereus haft thou met withal, And he hath cut thofe pretty fingers off, That could have better few'd than Philomel. O, had the monster feen thofe lily hands Tremble, like afpen leaves, upon a lute, And make the filken ftrings delight to kifs them; He would not then have touch'd them for his life: Or had he heard the heavenly harmony, Which that fweet tongue hath made,

He would have dropt his knife, and fell asleep, As Cerberus at the Thracian poet's feet.

A Lady's Tongue cut out.

O, that delightful engine of her thoughts, That blabb'd them with fuch pleafing eloquence, Is torn from forth that pretty hollow cage; Where, like a fweet melodious bird, it fung Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear! A Perfon in Defpair compared to one on a Rock, &c.

For now I ftand as one upon a rock, Environ'd with a wildernefs of fea; Who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, Expecting ever when fome envious furge Will in his brinith bowels fwallow him.

Tears compared to Dew on a Lily. When I did name her brothers, then fresh tears Stood on her cheeks; as doth the honey-dew Upon a gather'd lily almoft wither'd.

Reflections on killing a Fly.

Mar. Alas, my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. Tit. But how, if that fly had a father and mother? How would he hang his fiender, gilded wings, And buz lamenting doings in the air! Poor harmless fly!

That with his pretty buzzing melody, Came here to make us merry; and thou haft kill'd him!

Revenge.

Lo, by thy fide where rape, and murder, stands; Now give fome furance that thou art revenge, Stab them, or tear them on thy chariot wheels; And then I'll come, and be thy waggoner, And whirl along with thee about the globe, Provide thee two proper palfries, as black as jet, To hale thy vengeful waggon fwift away, And find out murderers in their guilty caves: And, when thy car is loaden with their heads, I will difinount, and by the waggon wheel Trot, like a fervile footman, all day long; Even from Hyperion's riling in the caft, Until his very downfal in the fea.

8.36.