Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love:"
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her;
But, look, thou stay not till the watch be set,
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua;
Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.—
Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto:
Romeo is coming.

8

Nurse. O Lord, I could have staid here all the night, To hear good counsel: O, what learning is !

My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. [Exit Nurse. Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this! Fri. Go hence: Good night;9 and here stands all your state; 1

7 Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love:] The quarto, 1599, and 1609, read:

Thou puts up thy fortune and thy love.

The editor of the folio endeavoured to correct this by reading: Thou puttest up thy fortune and thy love.

The undated quarto has powts, which, with the aid of the original copy in 1597, pointed out the true reading. There the line stands:

Thou frown'st upon thy fate, that smiles on thee. Malone. The reading in the text is confirmed by the following passage in Coriolanus, Act V, sc. i:

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then

"We pout upon the morning,

Steevens.

Romeo is coming ] Much of this speech has likewise been added since the first edition. Steevens.

Go hence: Good night; &c.] These three lines are omitted in all the modern editions. Johnson.

They were first omitted, with many others, by Mr. Pope.

Malone.

here stands all your state;] The whole of your fortune

depends on this. Johnson.

Either be gone before the watch be set,
Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence:
Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man,
And he shall signify from time to time
Every good hap to you, that chances here:
Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewel; good night.
Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee:
Farewel.

SCENE IV.2

A Room in Capulet's House.

[Exeunt.

Enter CAPULET, Lady CAPULET, and PARIS.
Cap. Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily,
That we have had no time to move our daughter :
Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly,
And so did I;—Well, we were born to die.—
'Tis very late, she 'll not come down to-night:
I promise you, but for your company,

I would have been a-bed an hour ago.

Par. These times of woe afford no time to woo: Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter. La. Cap. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow; To-night she 's mew'd up3 to her heaviness.

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender Of my child's love: I think, she will be rul'd

2 SCENE IV] Some few unnecessary verses are omitted in this scene according to the oldest editions. Pope.

Mr. Pope means, as appears from his edition, that he has followed the oldest copy, and omitted some unnecessary verses which are not found there, but inserted in the enlarged copy of this play. But he has expressed himself so loosely, as to have been misunderstood by Mr. Steevens. In the text these unnecessary verses, as Mr. Pope calls them, are preserved, conformably to the enlarged copy of 1599. Malone.

3

mew'd up-] This is a phrase from falconry. A mew was a place of confinement for hawks. So, in Albumazar, 1614:

fully mew'd

"From brown soar feathers -."

Again, in our author's King Richard III:

And, for his meed, poor lord he is mew'd up." Steevens.

4 Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender

O my child's love:] Desperate means only bold, adventurous, as

In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to-bed;
Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;

And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next-
But, soft; What day is this?

Par.

Monday, my lord.
Cap. Monday? ha! ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon,
O' Thursday let it be ;-o' Thursday, tell her,
She shall be married to this noble earl:-
Will you be ready? do you like this haste?
We'll keep no great ado;—a friend, or two:-
For hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought we held him carelessly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel much:

Therefore we 'll have some half a dozen friends,
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?

Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow. Cap. Well, get you gone :-O' Thursday be it then :Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,

Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.
Farewel, my lord.-Light to my chamber, ho!
Afore me, it is so very late, that we
May call it early by and by:-Good night.

SCENE V.

Juliet's Chamber.5

Enter ROMEO and JULIET.

[Exeunt.

Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day:
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree:

if he had said in the vulgar phrase, I will speak a bold word, and venture to promise you my daughter. Johnson.

So, in The Weakest goes to the Wall, 1600:

"Witness this desperate tender of mine honour." Steevens. 5 SCENE V. Juliet's Chamber.] The stage-direction in the first edition is-"Enter Romeo and Juliet, at a window." In the second quarto," Enter Romeo and Juliet aloft." They appeared pro bably in the balcony which was erected on the old English stage. Malone.

6 Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree:] This is not merely a poetical supposition. It is observed of the nightingale, that, VOL. XII.

Ff

Believe, me, love, it was the nightingale.

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:
Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops;
I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I:
It is some meteor that the sun exhales,
To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,
And light thee on thy way to Mantua:7
Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone.
Rom. Let me be taʼen, let me be put to death;
I am content, so thou wilt have it so.

I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye,
'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow;
Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat
The vaulty heaven so high above our heads:
I have more care to stay, than will to go;9-
Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.-

if undisturbed, she sits and sings upon the same tree for many weeks together.

What Eustathius, however, has observed relative to a fig-tree mentioned by Homer, in his 12th Odyssey, may be applied to the passage before us: "These particularities, which seem of no consequence, have a very good effect in poetry, as they give the relation an air of truth and probability. For what can induce a poet to mention such a tree, if the tree, were not there in reality?" Steevens.

7 It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer,

And light thee on thy way-] Compare Sidney's Arcadia, 13th edit. p. 109: "The moon, then full, (not thinking scorn to be a torch-bearer to such beauty) guided her steps."

And Sir J. Davies's Orchestra, 1596, st. vii, of the sun:

"When the great torch-bearer of heauen was gone
"Downe in a maske unto the Ocean's court."

And Drayton's Eng Heroic Epist. p. 221, where the moon is described with the stars

8

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Attending on her, as her torch-bearers." Todd.

the pale reflex-] The appearance of a cloud opposed to the moon. Johnson.

9 I have more care to stay, than will to go;] Would it not be better thus—I have more will to stay, than care to go? Johnson.. Care was frequently used in Shakspeare's time for inclination.

Malone.

How is 't, my soul? let 's talk, it is not day.

Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away;
It is the lark that sings so out of tune,
Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps.
Some say, the lark makes sweet division;1
This doth not so, for she divideth us:

Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes;
O, now I would they had chang'd voices too!2
Since arm from arm3 that voice doth us affray,
Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to the day.

1 sweet division;] Division seems to have been the technical phrase for the pauses or parts of a musical composition. So, in King Henry IV, P I:

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Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower, "With ravishing division to her lute."

To run a division, is also a musical term. Steevens. 2 Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes;

O, now I would they had chang'd voices too!] I wish the lark and toad had changed voices; for then the noise which I hear would be that of the toad, not of the lark; it would consequently be evening, at which time the toad croaks; not morning, when the lark sings; and we should not be under the necessity of separation. A. C.

If the toad and lark had changed voices, the unnatural croak of the latter would have been no indication of the appearance of day, and consequently no signal for her lover's departure. This is apparently the aim and purpose of Juliet's wish. Heath.

The toad having very fine eyes, and the lark very ugly ones, was the occasion of a common saying amongst the people, that the toad and lark had changed eyes. To this the speaker alludes.

Warburton.

This tradition of the toad and lark I have heard expressed in a rustick rhyme:

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To heav'n I'd fly,

“But that the toad beguil'd me of mine eye." Johnson. Read chang'd eyes. M. Mason

3 Since arm from arm &c.] These two lines are omitted in the modern editions, and do not deserve to be replaced, but as they may show the danger of critical temerity. Dr. Warburton's change of I would to I wot was specious enough, yet it is evidently erroneous. The sense is this: The lark, they say, has lost her eyes to the toad, and now I would the toad had her voice too, since she uses it to the disturbance of lovers. Johnson.

4 Hunting thee hence with hunts-up to the day.] The hunts-up was the name of the tune anciently played to wake the hunters, and collect them together. So, in The Return from Parnassus, 1606: "Yet will I play a hunts-up to my Muse."