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Abr. Do you bite your thurib at us, Sir?
Sam. I do bite my thumb, Sir.

Abr. Do you bite you thumb at us, Sir?
Sam. Is the law on our fide, if I fay, ay?
Greg. No.

Sam. No, Sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, Sir; but I bite my thumb, Sir.

Greg. Do you quarrel, Sir?

Abr. Quarrel, Sir? no, Sir.

Sam. If you do, Sir, I am for you; I ferve as good

a man, as you.

Abr. No better.

Sam. Well, Sir.

5 Enter Benvolio.

Greg. Say, better. Here comes one of my master's kinímen.

Sam. Yes, better, Sir.

Abr. You lye.

Sam. Draw, if you be men.-Gregory, remember thy fwashing blow 6.

[They fight. Ben. Part, fools; put up your fwords; you know not what you do.

Enter Tybalt.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy fword,
Or manage it to part thefe men with me.
Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace!
the word

As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
Have at thee, coward.

I hate

5 Enter Benvolio.] Much of this fcene is added fince the first edition; but probably by Shakeipeare, fince we find it in that of the year 1599.



thy fwashing blow.] Jonfon ufes this expreffion in his Staple for News. "I do confels a washing blow." STEEVENS.


Enter three or four citizens with clubs.

Cit. Clubs, bills, and partifans! ftrike! beat them down!

Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues!

Enter old Capulet in his gown, and lady Capulet.

Cap. What noise is this?-7 Give me my long fword, ho!

La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch!-Why call you for a fword?

Cap. My fword, I fay! old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in fpight of me.

Enter old Montague, and lady Montague.

Mon. Thou villain, Capulet

let me go.

Hold me not,

La. Mon. Thou shalt not ftir one foot to feek a foe.

Enter Prince, with attendants.

Prin. Rebellious fubjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-ftained steel — Will they not hear?-what ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains iffuing from your veins; On pain of torture, from thofe bloody hands Throw your mif-temper'd weapons to the ground, And hear the sentence of your moved prince. Three civil broils, bred of an airy word,

7 Give me my long fword.] The long word was the fword ufed in war, which was fometimes wilded with both hands. JOHNSON.

This long fu rd is mentioned in The Coxcomb, a comedy by Beaumont and Fletcher, where the juftice fays, "Take their confeffions, and my long "I cannot tell what danger we may nicet with." STEEVENS.



By thee, old Capulet and Montague,
Have thrice difturb'd the quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's ancient citizens

Caft by their grave, befeeming, ornaments,
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Cankred with peace, to part your cankred hate;
If ever you difturb our itreets again,
Your lives fhall pay the forfeit of the
For this time, all the reft depart away:
You, Capulet, fhall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleafure in this cafe,
To old Free-town, our common judgment place:
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

[Exeunt Prince, Capulet, &c.
La. Mon. Who fet this ancient quarrel new abroach?
Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began?
Ben. Here were the fervants of your adverfary,
And yours, close fighting, ere I did approach:
I drew to part them: in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his fword prepar'd;
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
He fwung about his head, and cut the winds,
Who, nothing hurt withal, hifs'd him in fcorn.
While we were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
'Till the prince came, who parted either part.

La. Mon. O where is Romeo! Saw you him to-day? Right glad am I, he was not at this fray.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd fun Peer'd through the golden window of the East, A troubled mind drove me to walk abroad; Where, underneath the grove of fycamour, That weftward rooteth from the city fide, So early walking did I fee your fon. Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me, And ftole into the covert of the wood. I, measuring his affections by my own,.


That most are bufied when they are most alone,
Pursued my humour, not purfuing his;
• And gladly fhunn'd, who gladly fled from me.
Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen
With tears augmenting the fresh morning-dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep fighs:
But all fo foon as the all-chearing fun

Should, in the furtheft East, begin to draw
The fhady curtains from Aurora's bed;
Away from light steals home my heavy fon,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks fair day-light out,
And makes himself an artificial night.

Black and portentous muft this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the caufe?
Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him.
Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Mon. Both by myself, and many other friends:
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself-I will not fay, how true-
But to himself fo fecret and so close,
So far from founding and difcovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can fpread his fweet leaves to the air,
2 Or dedicate his beauty to the fame.


8 That meft are bufied, &c.] Edition 1597. Instead of which it is in the other edition thus:

by my own,

Which then most fought, where moft might not be found, .
Being one to many by my weary felf,

Purfued my humour, &c.


And gladly funn'd, &c.] The ten lines following, not in edition 1597, but in the next of 1599.


Ben. Have you importun'd, &c.] Thefe two fpeeches alfo omitted in edition 1597, but inferted in 1599. POPE.

2 Or dedicate his beauty to the fame.] When we come to confider, that there is fome power elfe befides balmy air, that

Could we but learn from whence his forrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as know.

Enter Romeo.

Ben. See, where he comes. So please you, step afide, I'll know his grievance, or be much deny'd.

Mon. I would, thou wert fo happy by thy stay To hear true fhrift.-Come, Madam, lets away.

Ben. Good-morrow, coufin.
Rom. Is the day fo young?

Ben. But new ftruck nine.

Rom. Ay rne! fad hours feem long.

Was that ny father that went hence fo faft?


Ben. It was. What fadnefs lengthens Romeo's hours?. Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them


Ben. In love?

Rom. Out

Ben. Of love?

Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, fo gentle in his view, Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Alas, that love, whofe view is muffled ftill, Should, without eyes, fee path-ways 3 to his will!


brings forth, and makes the tender buds spread themselves, I do not think it improbable that the poet wrote,

Or dedicate his beauty to the Sun.

Or, according to the more obfolete fpeiling, Sunne; which brings it nearer to the traces of the corrupted text. THEOB.

I cannot but fufpect that fome lines are loft, which connected this fimile more clofely with the foregoing fpeech; thefe lines, if fuch there were, lamented the danger that Romeo will die of his melancholy, before his virtues or abilities were known to the world. JOHNSON.

3 — to his awill!] Sir T. Hanmer, and after him Dr. Warburton, read, to his ill. The prefent reading has fome ob1curity; the meaning may be, that love finds out means to


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