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Scene VI. Violent Delights, not lasting,
Lovers, light of Foot.
O fo light of foot Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint; A lover may bestride the goffamour, That idles in the wanton summer air, . And yet not fall, fo light is vanity,
ACT III. SCENE IV,
A Lover's Impatience. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, To Phoebus manfion; such a waggoner As Phaeton, would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately: Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That (8) th' run-aways eyes may wink; and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of, and unseen, Lovers can see to do their am'rous rites By their own beauties: or, if love be blind; It belt agrees with night, .
(8) The run-aways, &c.] That is, the fun: whom he elegantly calls the run-away, in reference to the poetical account of the sun driving his chariot of light through the heavens, and running down to the west from the eyes of mortals to the arms af his celestial mistress,
Scene V. Romeo, on his Banishment.
Scene, The Monastery.
Romeo and the Friar.
Rom. (9) Ha, banishment! be merciful, fay death! For exile hath more terror in his look Than death itself. Do not say banishment.
Fri. Here from Virona art thou banished:
Rom. There is no world without Verona's walls,
the stroke that murders me.
Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here
(9) Ha, &c.] The Reader will find in the goth page of the second volume, a passage or two, that well deserve to be come par'd with this before us.
No sharp-ground knife, no present means of death,
Fri. Fond madman, hear me speak.
Fri. I'll give thee armour to bear off that word,
Rom. Yet banished ? hang up philosophy:
Fri. O then I see that madmen have no ears.
eyes. Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not
feel : Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tibalt murdered, Doting like me, and like me banished ; Then mightit thou speak, then mightft thou tear thy
hair, And fall upon the ground as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
SCENE VII. Juliet's Chamber, looking to the
Enter Romeo and Juliet above at a windorv ; a ladiler
of ropes fet. Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day :
(10) It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
(10) It was, &c.] The poets abound with numberlefs similies and frequent mention of the nightingale: the, as well at the close of the evening when the fings, seems to have been a favourite. of Milto»: the passages in his works are well known ; the following fine simile, though perhaps not so apt to our present purpose, yet as little known, I cannot help recommending.
I have heard
See Two Noble Kinsmen, A. S. Sc. 3. (11) Look, &c.] The poets in general seem to have exerted themselves in their description of the morning: the English may juftly clạim the preference over the Greeks and Romars, and Shakespear I think over all: the present passage is sufficient to set in competition with all we can produce: and the Reader by referring to the index will find many others equally beautiful. However, according to my promise, I must remember to quote some descriptions, the better to set forth Skakespear's superior excellence: Homer has led the way, and in almoit innumerable places, spoken of the morning “ as a goddess or divine person Äying in the air, unbarring the gates of light, and opening the day. She is drawn by him in a faffron robe, and with rosy hands (p:dodaxtin@, which is the epithet he almost constantly bestows upon her, and perhaps may vie with any other however beautiful) sprinkling light through the earth. She arises out of the waves of the sea, leaves the bed of Tython her lover, ascends the heavens, appears to gods and men, and gives notice of the sun's rising. She is placed by the father of the poets sometimes on a throne of gold; now in a chariot drawn by swift horses, and bearing along with her the day; and at other times she is whered in by the star, which is her harbinger, and which gives the signal of the morning's approach. On this as a ground, the poets fol
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder eaft:
lowing Homer, have run their divisions of fancy: this will appear by the following instances, &c." See Lay Monastery, p. 229. See Dryden's Virgil for the ensuing ;
Aurora now had left her faffron-bed,
From out their daming naftrils breath'd the day.
Lo, from the rosy east, her purple doors
Brings up, and quits his station in the rear.
The purple morning left her crimfon bed,
In Eden's fow'ry gardens gather'd new.
Now when the rosy-finger'd morning fair,