Ye plodding book-worms, with just sense at best,
To praise what others praise—and damn the rest,
Think not to court your smiles I strike my lyre,
Or to appease your wrath—my aim is higher.
Were you my judges, I suspect your hate
Would doom me to the poor Italian's fate;
The luckless d' Ascoli,* ^note

To you I'd say, great Shakespeare's soaring strains
Have joyed my happier hours; in grief have soothed my pains.

From early youth I've worshipped at his shrine,
And dwelt with rapture on his lofty line,
Pored o'er his verse beside my native streams,
And found him oft companion of my dreams.
And even now, when worldly duties urge,
And drive me forth on Fortune's giddy surge:
When cares perplex and agitate my mind,
Still, still a solace 'mid those cares I find;
What time, retiring from the busy scene,
Beneath some mossy grot or arbour green,
To his lov'd muse I consecrate the hour,
Forgetful of the ills that o'er me lower.
With thoughts like these, shall I not scorn the blame
From stupid churls of trifling with his name;
Or aiming in this low, degenerate age,
To dim the splendid lustre of his page?
Ah yes! while conscious of no aim impure,
Well can my eye the pedant's frown endure—
The critic's sneer, and all the little scorn
Of those, whom neither wit nor sense adorn.

PREFACE.

It is doubtless incumbent on me to make some kind of apology for sending forth into the world a Travesty on the writings of the immortal Shakespeare; but at the same time that I acknowledge this, I cannot forbear observing that the utter contempt in which I have ever held certain animals ycleped Pedants, who cry down any and every work which has not for its basis a classical and bombastic foundation, prevents me in the present instance from apologizing in the way I otherwise should, lest it may be considered that I do so out of deference to their opinions.

Instead of a direct apology therefore, I shall content myself by giving a reason; and of the two, perhaps the latter is preferable. But here I shall run the risk of incurring the same degree of ridicule I have never failed to attach to the characters of stiff and scholastic antiquarians, since my reason is grounded on the history of ancient days, when the Athenians and other learned Grecian states, and not long subsequent to them, the Romans, were so eminently conspicuous among the surrounding nations for refined sentiment and elegant literature. To come to the point at once: It is well known that deep tragedies were considered by the ancients as being often productive of dangerous consequences to society; and I am strongly inclined to think they may sometimes do mischief in the present day, unless people are occasionally put on their guard through the medium of burlesque, not to give way too much to the feelings they are likely to excite.* ^note

of the fact, but have been told and believe that the melancholy catastrophe of the hapless lovers in the interesting Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, had such an effect on a young lady, who had been cruelly separated from her lover by the stern mandates of her Father, that she followed the example of the unfortunate heroine in the play, and committed suicide. It was this circumstance which first induced me to write the present Travesty, which however I freely confess would never have been published, but for that of Hamlet, which I accidently read and was exceedingly diverted with. The sacrilege having been committed, and the work received with good humour by the public, I was tempted to send this little book to the press, and boldly to run the risk of the heavy charge which I foresaw might be laid against me by some cynical reviewer, of want-only sinning against the Tragic Muse.

The scene where the Funeral procession of Juliet is represented has been altogether omitted, and other matter introduced instead, the subject not being calculated to admit of burlesque.

I have also taken the liberty of omitting in the present work, all the indelicate passages in the original; which, albeit not over nice in trifles myself, I consider highly improper to be circulated among the public; for surely it is neither the province of true gallantry nor wit, be the vices of the age what they may, to shock the feelings of our fair countrywomen by indecent bagatelles and double entendres.

That I may not be imagined guilty of a particular desire to burlesque Shakespeare, it will be seen that I have followed up the popular Catastrophe as altered by Garrick; and now, having already said more than sufficient on this subject, I shall hastily dismiss it, and without any further preamble consign it to its fate.

CHARACTERS. PRINCE, MERCUTIO, CAPULET, MONTAGUE, ROMEO, PARIS, BENVOLIO, TIBALT [Tybalt], FRIAR LAWRENCE, FRIAR JOHN, BALTHAZAR [Balthasar], RAT-CATCHER [Rat Catcher], UNDERTAKER, PAGE. LADY CAPULET, JULIET, NURSE. Constables, Fiddlers, Watchmen, &c.

ROMEO AND JULIET TRAVESTY. ACT THE FIRST. SCENE I. The Street in Verona. Enter two Servants of Capulet, and two of Montague, fighting with Cudgels. Enter Benvolio, who hits each with his Cane very pompously on the head and separates them.

Benvolio.
Ye dirty dogs! your bludgeons lay aside,
Or your four carcases I'll soundly hide. Enter Tibalt.

Tibalt.
What! art for fighting? knuckle down and pray;
For I will make a corpse of thee this day.

Benvolio.
I do but keep the peace; put by thy stick:
Else with one blow I'll send thee to old Nick.

Tibalt.
Why 'tis a downright bull of peace to prate,
Armed as thou art, so here's have at thy pate;
And, by the living jingo, it shall go hard
If I don't prove thee a most arrant coward. (They fight with their sticks.)

(Voices within.)
—Down with the Capulets! down Montagues!
We'll fight it out for any thing you choose. (A scuffle within.) Enter Capulet in his night-cap, and Lady Capulet in her bed-gown.

Capulet.
What's all this bother? give me my great horse-pistol.

Lady Capulet.
Pshaw! the last marks you fired at, you missed all.

Capulet.
Run for't you jade; Montague's at my back,
And at his noddle I will have a crack. Enter Montague.

Montague.
Thou villain Capulet! thou'st greatly swaggered,
For which I'll knock thee down—

Lady.
What you! you blackguard! Enter Prince, City-Serjeants, and Constables.

Prince.
Ye frantic scoundrels and rebellious dogs!
More fierce than wolves, less mannerly than hogs,
That ne'er a stone perceive, but straight you shy it
At one another's heads, I say be quiet.
No longer vent your fiery rage like rockets,
But put your hands into your breeches pockets,
Or you shall grace the stocks: three times already
Your wrath to box in public streets has led ye;
But know, sirs, if you ever do't again,
You shall be tarr'd and feather'd for your pain:
Off, off, rude citizens; and as for you
Old sinners, Capulet and Montague,
The former instantly with me shall trudge,
And I between the two will act as judge;
The streets with noise and bustle you have fill'd all,
So Montague, attend me at the Guildhall
At noon. (To the Citizens.)
—Why zounds! d'ye take me for a blind post?
Begone! and may the Devil take the hindmost. [Exit Prince. Manent Montague and Benvolio.

Montague.
Now tell your loving uncle, I intreat,
How all this row was kick'd up in the street.

Benvolio.
Two servants of old Capulet, and two,
Who by their livery should belong to you,
Were fighting near this spot, as I past by;
I tried to part them, as no watch was nigh;
But scarcely had I pull'd the rogues asunder,
When round a corner popped that son of thunder,
The fiery Tibalt, who, I don't know why, chose
To favour me with sundry kicks and dry blows;
Thinking all this deserved some gratitude,
I put myself in fighting attitude,
And made my mind up Tibalt not to let off,
Till on his body I had paid my debt off;
So straight I tipped him a most wilful hit,
Which laid him sprawling.

Montague.
Well then, both were quit.

Benvolio.
That's true; nor was I anxious for more fighting,
As 'tis a pastime I have no delight in,
But then the mob came, on each side dividing,
And all at once began each other hiding.
At length the Prince in person stopp'd the riot,
And in a set speech told us to be quiet.

Montague.
Where's Romeo? Have you seen the lad to day?
If there, he would have shown some famous play
In boxing, still I'm glad he 'scaped the fray.

Benvolio.
This morn, before the sun began to shine,
It chanced, a herd of grunting noisy swine,
Beneath my window wandering, broke my rest,
So out of bed I jump'd, and quickly dressed:

Then scamper'd off, whistling an ancient ditty,
To yonder rookery, westward of the city.—
Well! there I saw your son, who seem'd besotted;
For when he spied me coming, off he trotted.—
No doubt, being drunk, he didn't like to shew it,
And sneak'd away for fear that I should know it.—

Montague.
These many mornings I have mark'd him there,
Gnashing his teeth, and pulling off his hair;
This wimpering humour something ill bespeaks,
But I'd advise him to give o'er those freaks;
Drunk early in the morning! that's too bad.

Benvolio.
I've no doubt he was either drunk or mad.
If he were sober, uncle, know you why
He played so strange a part?

Montague.
Egad, not I.

Benvolio.
Mercutio and myself are friends of his,
And I don't think he'd take it much amiss,
Were we to ask him why he thus behaves,
And struts about alone, and rants and raves,
Looking for all the world—(hesitating.)

Montague.
Come man, don't falter—

Benvolio.
Just like a thief about to grace a halter.

At all events we'll try to scent him out,
And coax him to confess what he's about.

Montague.
Thou prov'st a friend in this provoking matter.

Benvolio.
Pooh! Uncle, spare my blushes, and don't flatter. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Rookery. Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.

Mercutio.
Pray, mark him Ben, behold this mournful Cupid;

Benvolio.
How wild the fellow looks!

Mercutio.
Quite wild and stupid;
Didn't I tell you that we here should find him.
He seems in churlish mood, but never mind him. Enter Romeo.

Benvolio.
Good day, my lad.

Romeo.
Ah! Cousin Ben, good-morrow.

Mercutio.
My friend, what fills thy youthful phiz with sorrow?

Romeo.
A certain inward pain, past all belief.

Benvolio.
'Tis love, perhaps; would I could give relief!
Alas! that love which always ought to please us,
Instead of this, so oft should vex and teaze us!

Romeo.
Where shall we take our chop to-day?—but coz,
What caused this morning such a mighty buz?
Yet I'm a fool to ask, for I've been told;
Though hate seems hot as pepper, love's not cold;
And love compels me a long phiz to put on,
For one for whom I should not care a button.

Mercutio.
Who is she?

Romeo.
Who? a woman.

Mercutio.
Come no joking:
I never knew a fellow so provoking.
A woman! that's a thing of course you churl.

Benvolio.
That I deny; she might have been a girl.

Romeo.
She's both, for though but seventeen last grass,
You never yet saw a more strapping lass;

The best wove paper in the town can't vie
With her complexion, Ben—and then her eye!—
It set me in a blaze before she wink'd:
But ah! she knows not love my soul has pink'd;
And if she knew't, the cruel maid, mayhap,
Would ridicule me for an idle chap:
Chance gave the wound, and time will heal it never;
Alas! Mercutio; I am dished for ever:
To each sad night a dismal morning follows,
And still 'tis holloing groans and groaning hollos.

Mercutio.
Nonsense! for shame man, don't on her be thinking.

Romeo.
I must and shall, unless I take to drinking.

Mercutio.
Then drink, my jolly boy! 'till all looks blue,
And change thy present love for one that's new;
If thou wilt blow thy jacket out to-night
At Capulet's, she'll be forgotten quite:
So come with me.

Romeo.
What, sup with Capulet?

Mercutio.
Aye with old Cap.—why seem you in a sweat?
Go there and see the pretty little lasses;
There's many a she, who your she far surpasses:
I'll give you leave to load me with abuse,
If I don't make you think your swan a goose.

Romeo.
Well, well, I'll go.

Benvolio.
That's right; may pleasure haunt you!

Romeo.
I've changed my mind, and will not go.—

Mercutio.
Why won't you?

Romeo.
I dreamed last night that—

Mercutio.
Nonsense! hold your gab!
Dreams are mere humbugs of the old Queen Mab,
The fairy witch; but don't mind her a fig;
So come with me, and let us dance a jig. (Dances about.)

Romeo.
Lead on then, friends; if you will make me trot
To Capulet's, whether I will or not. [Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio.
Whatever hence betides me, I'll be bolder,
And if I see my sweetheart fast I'll hold her;
Nor will I let her go, 'till I declare
How much I doat on one so fat and fair:
For I'll no longer bear this amorous flutter
Without once daring my fierce love to utter.
What if she cry and run to tell her mother;
'Twere best to know my doom one way or t'other. [Exit.

SCENE III. Capulet's House. Enter Lady Capulet and Nurse.

Lady.
Where's Juliet?

Nurse.
How should I know?

Lady.
Go and see.

Nurse.
Miss Juliet, ho! Miss Juliet! [Exit Nurse. Enter Juliet.

Juliet. (Pertly.)
—Who wants me?

Lady.
I do, my wench; where have you so long tarried?
I wish to learn if you will soon get married;
For know you're sought in wedlock by young Paris;
He'll fret to fiddlestrings if his suit miscarries;
And will you let him break his tender heart?

Juliet.
I dont care much about him for my part;
Sure wedlock now-a-days is made a trade of;
But I will mark and see what stuff he's made of. Enter a Servant.

Servant.
Make haste away, Miss July, and old Mistress,
The guests are come, and Master's in a distress:
I heard him calling on you twice or thrice.—

Lady.
Tell him we'll join him, sirrah, in a trice
And John!—(calling after him.)

Servant.
Yes madam.

Lady.
Get the cards and dice. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Saloon in Capulet's House. The Capulets and Guests discovered,—Card and Hazard Tables, &c.

Capulet.
Welcome ye gents, ye ladies, welcome too!
In spite of corns I'll dance a bout with you.—

(Fiddles play, the dancers arrange themselves in order and dance jigs.)

Romeo. (Tipsy.)
—Dear cousin Ben, see you that young girl there,
Talking to yonder buck with ginger hair?

Benvolio. (Tipsy.)
—Cousin, the fascinating maid I see.

Romeo.
Faith, I'll soon make her have a chat with me.

(Rising from cards.) Tibalt.
—I know that voice! by George 'tis Romeo's!
He's no right here,—therefore I'll pull his nose.

Capulet.
Now don't,—Zounds, Sir! you'll put me in a stew,
If you insult my guests.—

Romeo. (To Juliet.)
—Miss, how d'ye do?
Will you permit me just to kiss your cheek?

Juliet.
No sir, I won't, and if you're rude, I'll shriek.

Romeo.
Madam, don't take me for a saucy rip;
If not your cheek, pray let me kiss your lip.

Juliet.
Now you talk sense; sir, I prefer the latter.

Romeo. (Aside.)
—O what a bonny lass! so here's have at her (Kisses her.)
Miss Juliet, say—was not that kiss delightful?
Come answer yes,—I hope you'll not be spiteful.

Juliet.
I own I like your form and red complexion.

Romeo.
Then one kiss more, if you have no objection. (Kisses her.)

Nurse.
Madam, your mother wants you.

Benvolio.
Who is she?

Nurse.
Why madam Capulet,—who should she be?

Benvolio.
Romeo, let's brush; I've ta'en my fill of Port,
And shrewdly guess we shall have no more sport.

Romeo.
So much the worse;—my dearest dear, good night. (To Juliet.)

Juliet.
Adieu, sweet rake!

Romeo.
Farewell my heart's delight! [Exeunt Romeo and Benvolio.

Capulet. (Calling after them.)
—Nay, gentlemen, now don't so soon depart,
But stay and sup on goose and apple tart. (To the company.)
—They will not stay, but guests, I hope you will:
Come; smoke a pipe with me and drink your fill;
I've bought two kegs of gin, and paid the bill. [Exeunt Capulet and Guests.

Juliet.
Who is that buck in pink that now did go?

Nurse.
The son and heir of old Tiber'—Heigh-ho! (Sleepy)

Juliet.
And who is he that gave my lips a buss?

Nurse.
Why Romeo, and there'd be a pretty fuss
If Master knew't.

Juliet.
If he be mar-ri-ed,
A horse-pond soon will be my wedding bed.
O that same Romeo is a handsome fellow!

Nurse.
True, but he swiped himself and got quite mellow

Juliet.
He's not to blame, though drunk as any swine:
For my old dad mixed brandy with the wine.

Nurse.
Nay, don't pretend, Miss, to excuse his sin;
After the wine he dosed himself with gin.

Juliet.
That's a mere trifle: let us join the throng,
And talk of Romeo as we pass along. [Exeunt. SCENE V. The Street. Enter Romeo.

Romeo.
I'm boiling o'er with love: my heart is with her;
And as I 'spy my cronies coming hither,
I'll give the rogues the slip. [Exit. Enter Benvolio and Mercutio.

Benvolio.
I say, hollo!
Stop and shake hands, at least, before you go!
Stop, stop, but see he scales yon garden wall!

Mercutio.
I hope the snivelling whelp will get a fall.
Romeo, good night! Benvolio, it's no use
To chase a gander seeking for his goose;
So let's be off.

Benvolio.
We will; 'twere vain to seek
For one, so drunk, who when we call, can't speak. [Exeunt, staggering. SCENE VI. A Garden.—Moonlight. Enter Romeo, who tumbles as he jumps from the wall.

Romeo. (Getting up and rubbing his head.)
—He jests at scars that never broke his head—
What light is that? 'tis Juliet going to bed. (Juliet appears at the Window.)
—Arise, fair sun! and put the moon to shame:
I saw her faint as soon as e'er you came.—
See how she leans her cheek upon her knuckles,
Her cheek that's shining like my best brass buckles.
Were I her glove, I'd give it such a smack!
Her eyes shou'd sparkle with delight.—

Juliet.
Alack! Alack!

Romeo.
She speaks, she speaks! now prithee speak again!
Why by the moon's light do'st thou thus complain?

Juliet. (Aside.)
—He thinks that I don't see him: he's mistaken,
So I'm resolved to sham, and smoke his bacon.
O Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo!

Romeo.
Come down, my turtle dove, and you shall know.

Juliet.
What man art thou that steals't beneath my window?

Romeo.
One whom fierce love in slavish chains has pinn'd Oh!

Juliet.
'Tis Romeo's voice! I know it by the sound!

Romeo.
That's a good reason, faith, and most profound.

Juliet.
But tell me, pray, how could'st thou venture here?
The garden walls are high—I'm sick with fear;—
If seen—my character is gone eternally:
My cousins too will thrash you most infernally!

Romeo.
Love urged me, dear, those walls to scamper over.

Juliet.
Love!—'tis indeed a fine leap for a lover!
I fear my cousins—

Romeo.
Don't mind them a flea.

Juliet.
If thou art found, my life on't they'll flea thee.

Romeo.
One frown from thee can give a deeper pain
Than all their blows, though they should fall like rain.

Juliet.
Thou know'st the shades of night veil o'er my face,
Else blushes out of number thou would'st trace
For what I said when I soliloquized,
But let me not for this be now dispised;
For that would be unfair:—don't think my boy,
I'm too comeatable: I'll soon be coy
If you presume to give yourself much airs;
If you love me, 'tis well,—if not, who cares?

Romeo.
Ma'am, by yon flat-faced moon, I do declare—

Juliet.
Its quite ridiculous by her to swear:
She changes every month, and much I fear
Thy love would change a hundred times a year.

Romeo.
What shall I swear by?

Juliet.
That which I love best:
Namely, thyself,—swear, then I'll go to rest.

Romeo.
Upon my honor.

Juliet.
Yet, upon my soul,
I think you'd better far not swear at all.
Good night, good night. (Going.)

Romeo.
Miss, will you leave me thus?

Juliet.
Romeo, what more require you?

Romeo.
But one buss.

Juliet.
Oh! that's impossible! my windows high;
You cannot reach me, so my dear, dont try. (Nurse calls.)
Coming! sweet Montague, awhile content ye,
I'll come again before you can count twenty. [Exit.

Romeo.
This is a lucky night! I'm quite delighted! (Re-enter Juliet.)

Juliet.
Five words, dear Romeo, let our loves be plighted,
And if my maiden fondness thou'rt not scorning,
Pray let me hear from thee to-morrow morning;

By one I'll send, at what time we shall marry;
For troth, I think it silly long to tarry.
Romeo, I go to take my nightly toddy;—
I hope thou meanest well.

Romeo.
So thrive my body! (Nurse calls within.)

Juliet.
Coming, I say! good night ty'e ten times over. [Exit.

Romeo.
For thy dear sake no more I'll prove a rover. (Re-enter Juliet.)

Juliet.
Romeo, my lad!

Romeo.
It is my love that speaks:
How prettily the tender creature squeaks!

Juliet.
Romeo!

Romeo.
My dove!

Juliet.
To-morrow at what hour
Shall I send to thee?

Romeo.
Let me think:—at four.

Juliet.
No, that's too early.

Romeo.
Then, sweet mistress mine,
If you think proper, it shall be at nine.

Juliet.
Yes, that will do; 'till then 'tis twenty years.

Romeo.
Now don't tell sibs! for clearly it appears
'Tis not so many hours.

Juliet.
Ah me! for what
I called thee back, somehow I've quite forgot.—
Oh! I remember! I've a lantern, which
You'd better take with you—'tis dark as pitch.
The moon is gone to sleep behind the clouds,
And ghosts now walk abroad to air their shrouds.

Romeo.
How can you let it down?

Juliet.
Why by a rope.

Romeo.
You'd better let yourself down and elope.

Juliet.
All in good time. Methought I saw a man turn
Round yonder wall! come will you have the lantern?

Romeo.
I'm much obliged; but day will soon be breaking.

Juliet.
Then pray be off,—I hear the old Nurse squeaking.
And yet I would not have thee further stray,
Than my young Magpie does, when we're at play:
Whene'er he hops too far and takes to wing,
I use my posy garter for a string,
And pull him back.

Romeo.
I would I were thy bird!

Juliet.
And so do I, sweetheart, upon my word:
But thou would'st be in danger then of choaking,
Sops down thy throat I always should be poking;
Once more good night! to part is quite provoking.

Romeo.
Peace guard thy head, and sound sleep bung thine eye up.
Ere long, a priest our marriage knot shall tie up. [Exeunt. END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ROMEO AND JULIET TRAVESTY. ACT THE SECOND. SCENE I. A Monastery, Enter Friar Lawrence in his Night-Cap, carrying a Hamper.

Friar.
The sun is up and, and ere its piping heat
Shall set the good folks sweating in the street,
Off to the English Tavern I must scamper,
And with good London Porter fill this hamper. (Enter Romeo.)

Romeo.
My jolly friar! good morning to your night-cap.

Friar.
Jesting with sober church-men isn't right, chap.

Why at this early hour dost sneak about,
With face unwashed, and pale as any clout?
Uncovered too! for shame! go seek thy hatter,
But ere thou go'st, pray tell me what's the matter?

Romeo.
I will, in half a shake; so list to me;
I have been feasting with mine enemy,
Where one did pierce me, whom I wounded too;
The cure of both, old boy, depends on you.

Friar.
Be plain, thou know'st I never deal in physic.

Romeo.
Then plainly, love has given me the phthisic;
I'm head and ears in love with the fair daughter
Of Capulet; and love has also caught her:
Therefore I beg this day you will us marry;
We can't our passion smother.

Friar.
By th' Lord Harry
I think you're much too hot: do, pray, be heedful,
And don't be spliced unless you touch the needful:
Although old Capulet has ducats many;
I dont believe he'll give his girl a penny
If she wed you, so prithee amorous son,—
Copy our bucks of fashion,—cut and run.

Romeo.
Indeed I shan't, my love is true and fervent;
So goodman Friar, your very humble servant;
I'll make all haste, and seek another priest,
Nor will I ask you to our wedding feast:
For if you will not both in wedlock splice,
With me, your mutton you shall never slice.

Friar.
Well, I'll consent to do the friendly deed:
So come with me.

Romeo.
Then trip along with speed;
For I'm all over in a sweat and flurry.

Friar.
Be calm—no job's well done that's done in hurry. [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Street. Enter Benvolio and Mercutio meeting Romeo.

Mercutio.
Bonjour, my kiddy! as the Frenchmen say.

Romeo.
I hope you're both salubrious to day.

Mercutio.
You hoaxed us both last night.

Romeo.
Indeed! how so?

Mercutio.
By slipping off.

Romeo.
'Tis true; but you must know
I was so drunk that I was sure of tumbling
If I had stopped; so prithee, don't be grumbling:
When grape-juice once into a man's head steals up,
Unless he runs, he's sure to kick his heels up. Enter Nurse.

Benvolio.
Here comes a sail!

Mercutio.
She looks a rum old cruizer:
Let's have some fun with her.

Romeo.
Now don't abuse her.

Nurse.
My lads, can you inform me rightly where
One Romeo lives?

Romeo.
I'm he.

Nurse.
Well, I declare
I had forgot you.

Mercutio.
Romeo, we'll to breakfast. [Exeunt Benvolio and Mercutio.

Romeo.
I'll follow soon.

Well, nurse, how's Juliet? speak fast.

Nurse.
Pray, give me leave to breathe.

Romeo.
Come, how's my love?

Nurse.
Why well, and sound, and loving as a dove.

Romeo.
Bid her put on her new shoes and best bonnet,
With lots of ribbons, white and red upon it,
Comb out her hair, dress in her Sunday frock,
And meet me in the church by ten o'clock;
Where we'll be married, and I beg you'll take
This shilling for your pains and for my sake,
But see you don't get drunk with it.

Nurse.
I won't,
If I can help it, sir, depend upon't.

Romeo.
And Nurse, attend;—my man with a rope ladder
Shall creep to Juliets' window, like an adder
Sly and unseen, then to the top shall heave it:—
Do you be there in waiting to receive it.

Nurse.
That's a good plan.

Romeo.
Commend me to my dear!

Nurse.
I will.

Romeo.
Now don't forget.

Nurse.
O never fear! [Exeunt. SCENE III. Capulet's House. Enter Juliet.

Juliet.
Not yet returned! O the old wench! I'll row her:
She promised to be back in half an hour,
And now 'tis nearly twice that time, I vow:
But here she comes, as drunk as David's sow. Enter Nurse, tipsy.
O honey nurse! say, what's the news with you?

Nurse.
Have patience.

Juliet. (Passionately.)
—Answer without more ado.

Nurse.
D'ye think I'll thus be hurried: I'm in trouble:

My old bones ache,—methinks too, I see double.

Juliet.
O you old hag! You're drunk! full well I know it;
Your lisping speech and breath too plainly shew it:
Your paunch with liquor you are always filling.

Nurse.
'Twas Romeo's fault, he bribed me with a shilling.

Juliet.
The more shame for him,—what does Romeo say?

Nurse.
That he will marry thee this very day.
So hie thee off to Church, and there thou'lt find
A brisk young husband, suited to thy mind.

Juliet.
O dear! I feel quite shy.

Nurse.
Come, no dissembling.

Juliet.
In every toe and finger I've a trembling. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Church. Enter Friar Lawrence and Romeo.

Friar.
I hope thy lucky star will now preside,
And shine on thee and on thy bonny bride.

Romeo.
What! art thou mad? thy words are nonsense quite:
Who ever saw a star shine, but at night?
Oh, that the ceremony was begun!
I shan't be easy till the deed is done:
Not yet in sight! (Looking out at the door.)
I hope the old Nurse told her
That I was here, and longing to behold her.

Friar.
Be patient, man; why what the devil ails thee?
It seems thy grumbling spirit never fails thee:
But here the lady comes;—now prick your ears,—
And lay aside your groaning doubts and fears. (Enter Juliet.)

Juliet.
Good-morrow, Priest, so pious and so ghostly.

Friar.
Good-day.—Your business lies with Romeo, mostly. (Handing her over.)

Romeo.
O Juliet! plump faced virgin! if thy pleasure
Now equal mine in boundless weight and measnre,
Ope wide thy mouth and speak thy soul's delight.

Juliet.
I faint with joy, with bliss o'erpowered quite.

Friar.
Come, come, no jokes: alone you shant remain,
Till wedlock's knot in one has bound the twain. [Exeunt. SCENE V. The Street. Enter Mercutio and Benvolio.

Benvolio.
Let's brush:—the Capulets are in the street;
And there'll be broken heads if once we meet.

Mercutio.
I will not budge—What, thou'rt for making off?

Benvolio.
D'ye doubt my pluck? then coat and wig I'll doff,
And take a bout with thee.

Mercutio.
I spoke in fun.
E'en stay or go;—but damme if I run.

(Enter Tibalt.)

Benvolio.
Now by my head, here comes that skinny eel.
Young Tibalt!

Mercutio.
Well, I care not, by my heel!

Tibalt.
A word with you before we think of parting.

Mercutio.
Aye, and a blow; for thou shalt get a starting.

Tibalt.
If thou'rt for that, I'll pay thee off in kind:
'Tis Romeo though, whom first I wish to find;
And when I catch him he shall have a licking.

Mercutio.
Sir! You deserve a most infernal kicking. (Enter Romeo.)

Tibalt.
But here comes Romeo! he's the man for me.

Mercutio.
Aye, any day o'th' week, as thou wilt see.

Tibalt.
Romeo, thou art a knave, a pert young ninny!
And I will box with thee for half a guinea.

Romeo.
I'll see thee damned first;—it would not be right
For me with Juliet's cousin here to fight.

Mercutio.
As he's for shirking, I will give you battle,
And thrash you worse than drivers thrash their cattle.

Tibalt.
Come on then.—(Clenches his fists.) (They fight and Romeo parts them)

Romeo.
Fie, for shame, you snarling fops! [Exit Tibalt.

Mercutio.
O what a thump he's tipped me on the chops!
Run for a Doctor! bid him come this minute!

Romeo.
'Tis a mere scratch; I'm sure there's not much in it.

Mercutio.
You tell a lie;—I'm dished, you saucy prig:
I was a fool for kicking up this rig.
A plague of both your houses! I am dying,—
Help me, Benvolio, and pray don't be crying. [Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio.

Romeo.
The Prince's friend and mine, at this damned meeting
Hath had a cruel and outrageous beating;
Yet I've not stirred a peg—'Tis Juliet's fault;
Her beauty sets my courage quite at nought. Enter Benvolio.

Benvolio.
O Romeo, Romeo! let us weep and wail!
The brave Mercutio's dead as a door nail.

Enter Tibalt.
Here comes that rascal Tibalt back again!

Romeo.
I'll lace him tightly now Mercutio's slain;
Tibalt, thou call'dst me but just now a knave;
Knave in thy teeth, thou lying cut throat slave!

Tibalt.
Thy cousin this day to his grave I've hurled,
And thou shalt seek him in the other world. (They fight. Romeo throttles Tibalt, who falls.)

Romeo.
How like you that close hug?

Tibalt.
What's that to you?
You've throttled me, you dog, by all that's blue! (Dies.)

Benvolio.
Fly, Romeo, fly this moment! Tibalt's killed!
And soon with rabble will the street be filled:
Now don't stand there, staring o'er what thou'st done;
The Prince will clap thee in the clink! so run! [Exeunt.

SCENE VI. A Room in Capulet's House. Enter Juliet.

Juliet.
Be black as ink thou night! that Romeo may
Unseen approach, 'till morn with me to stay. (Enter Nurse.)
O here comes nurse! say, what's the news, old lass?

Nurse.
Oh! things are now come to a pretty pass!

Juliet.
Why dost thou wring thy shrivelled hands and cry?

Nurse.
He's dead! he's dead! what pity he should die!
O wicked deed! O Romeo! Romeo!

Juliet.
Why with these howlings dost torment me so?
Speak plainly out; has Romeo cut his throat?
If so, I'll drown me in our garden moat:
Say thou but aye, and I will do it quickly.

Nurse.
I saw him looking bloody, pale and sickly,
Aud had a fit. Oh Tibalt! Tibalt, Oh!

Juliet.
Is Tibalt also dead? Oh, don't say so!

Nurse.
Tibalt is killed by Romeo,—there! that's all!
Romeo's transported—now your tears let fall.
The devil take that hang-dog Romeo!

Juliet.
Blisters upon thy tongue for saying so!

Nurse.
Poor Tibalt he has cruelly misused.

Juliet.
Well, if he have, he shan't be thus abused:
I'd rather have ten thousand Tibalts dead,
Than my own loving Romeo banished:
Rather than this, I'd see my dad, and mother,
And you, and all, die after one another!

Nurse.
You're mad! to bed: Romeo shall still come to thee;
With blood of Tibalt's on his hands, to woo thee.
I know his hiding-place.

Juliet.
Give him this garter,
And tell him he has acted like a Tartar;
But I forgive him.—This is my token true.
Bid him come quickly.

Nurse.
Yes.

Juliet.
Now see you do. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII. The Monastery, Enter Friar Lawrence.

Friar.
Come from thy hiding-place, young Romeo, come! (Romeo creeps from under a Barrel.)

Romeo.
Say, what's my doom?

Friar.
The Prince looked dev'lish rum,
And will transport thee; but pray think on't lightly.

Romeo.
Oh! if I had him here I'd cane him tightly.
What! transportation! I prefer a halter!

Friar.
Thy ravings can't his resolution alter:
Besides, 'tis quite ungrateful thus to mutter;—
The Prince's heart is soft as new-made butter;
He might have doomed thee like a thief to die.

Romeo.
I wish he had: why any carrion fly
Is better off than Romeo now; because
A fly might Juliet kiss beneath her gauze,
But Romeo may not even look upon her!

Friar.
Thou'rt too rumbustical, upon my honor:

Murder's thy crime; a crime too great to gloss over:
So bear thy punishment like a philosopher.

Romeo. (Pulls off Friar Lawrence's Wig.)
—If by Philosophy I could transform
This wig to Juliet, tender, fair, and warm;
Then 'twould be something; but that's out o'th' question:
Therefore the word's unfit for my digestion.

Friar.
Pray have with me a little disputation:

Romeo.
Why 'tis no use to keep such botheration: (Throws the Wig at him.)
Wert thou like me, foaming with rage unbottled,
In love, just married too, and Tibalt throttled,
And were thy love as faithful as Queen Dido,
And thou torn from her, thou would'st rave as I do!
Thus on the ground thoud'st throw thyself in dudgeon, (Throws himself on the ground.)
Or knock thy brains out with some friendly bludgeon. (Knocking within.)

Friar.
Romeo, be easy; hear'st thou not the knocking?
Thy rude behaviour I declare is shocking:
Besides, the dust will spoil thy fine apparel,—
Creep off, and hide thyself beneath the barrel.

Romeo.
It smells too strong of rum. (Knocking again.)

Friar.
Why zounds, I'm coming!
Do stop; don't make such a confounded drumming;

If you keep such a rattle, out I'll bar you;
But tell me quickly, who the devil are you?

Nurse. (Within.)
—I come from Juliet.

Friar.
Then walk in, I pray. Enter Nurse.

Nurse.
O my dear Sir! there's been the deuce to pay!
But you know, all of course;—Is Romeo found?

Friar.
Why can't you see his carcase on the ground?
There he lies bellowing, and as drunk by jingo
With his own tears as sots e'en get with stingo.

Nurse.
Surely that blubbering fellow is'nt he?

Romeo.
Old dame it is.

Nurse.
Oh! what a sight to see!
Juliet's quite mad; she felled me at a blow.

Romeo.
Pray, how is she? this moment let me know. (Rising.)

Nurse.
Why mad I tell you.—There's no coming near her;
And all her Father's Household greatly fear her;

She raves on Tibalt, jumps about the room,
Seizes the poker, snatches up a broom,
The fire-tongs too, and oftentimes the bellows,
With which she licks the servant-men.

Friar.
Poor fellows!

Nurse.
And then on Romeo all at once she calls,
Then has a fit, and on the carpet falls.

Romeo.
I'll cut my throat; I will!

Friar.
For shame, you booby!
Thou art no man, but a poor silly looby,
Although thou'st Tibalt killed, I don't see why
Thou should'st thyself kill, and make Juliet cry:
Go to her room this night as you agreed on;
Stay a short time, and then to Mantua speed on:
There dwell awhile with patience, until I
Shall blow your marriage by a hue and cry;
The Prince will grant a pardon then, of course—
The Cryers too shall bawl till they are hoarse
In publishing the news. Nurse get thee home,
And tell thy Mistress Romeo soon will come.

Nurse.
Sir, here's my lady's garter, which she said
I was to give you ere you went to bed.

Romeo.
This gives me comfort.

Friar.
Mantua must be
Thy dwelling place a month or two, d'ye see:

Thy man shall bring thee letters every week.
Now let's shake hands; good night! thy mistress seek.

Romeo.
But that love's clapper knocks hard at my heart,
I really should be sorry to depart. [Exeunt. SCENE VIII. Capulet's House. Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet and Paris.

Capulet.
Things run so crossly and so much awry,
I've had no time to sound our girl.

Lady.
Nor I.

Paris.
Why to be sure, 'tis a bad time to woo her.
Madam, good night; pray give my best love to her.

Capulet.
I think, Sir Paris, she'll be ruled by me;
On Thursday next your wedding-day shall be.

Paris.
I wish this day were Thursday.

Capulet.
Well, be easy;
Thursday shall be the day—I hope 'twill please ye. (Paris having taken his leave, Capulet steps after him, and turns him round.)
I don't know if you'd wish to take or no
A glass of any thing before you go?
If you will, say so, and I'll ring the bell.

Paris.
No, not just now, I thank you.

Capulet.
Very well. [Exeunt. SCENE IX. A Garden. Enter Romeo and Juliet.

Juliet.
Now don't go yet! some saucy boy did mock
As he passed by, the crowing of the cock.

Romeo.
Indeed, my dear, no boy would thus be crowing;
It is the cock; therefore I must be going.

Juliet.
Yon light is only moonshine,—can't you see?
Then rest awhile, and have a chat with me.

Romeo.
Well, let it be exactly as you please;
I'll say 'tis moonshine,—that the moon's a cheese.—
I'll say 'tis not the cock, whose crowings loud
Ascend so high, and ring in yonder cloud:
Come death, since Juliet wills it so, no matter;
Lets kiss and toy again, and talk and chatter;
It is not day.

Juliet.
It is; more light it grows;
It is our game-cock that so loudly crows.
Prithee be jogging, Romeo.

Romeo.
Ere we part
Give me one kiss, or I shall break my heart. Enter Nurse.

Nurse.
Madam.

Juliet.
Well, what d'ye want.

Nurse.
You'll be found out,
Unless you soon sneak off, so look about;
Mistress is coming.

Juliet.
Oh! my husband dear,
Let me each hour i'th' minute from thee hear,
For in love's minutes there are hours a plenty,
At this rate, Romeo, though much under twenty,

I shall be quite a hag ere our next meeting.

Romeo.
Ten times a day, at least, I'll send thee greeting.

Juliet.
You look as pale as any holland smock.

Romeo.
And so do you, my dearest—(Cock crows.) Damn the cock!

Juliet.
Romeo, farewell!

Romeo.
Farewell!

Juliet.
Adieu!

Romeo.
Adieu!
'Tis hard that fate should part a pair so true. [Exeunt. END OF THE SECOND ACT.

ROMEO AND JULIET TRAVESTY. ACT THE THIRD. SCENE I. Juliet's Chamber. Enter Juliet.

Juliet.
Fortune! Men call thee oft a fickle hussey,
And say thou act's like one that's downright muzzy;
O still be fickle! whether right or wrong;
And don't in Mantua keep my Romeo long. Enter Lady Capulet.

Lady.
Hollo, Miss Lazybones! Ho! are you waking?

Juliet.
Yes.

Lady.
Why d'ye cry?

Juliet.
Because my head is aching.

Lady.
'Tis wrong to wail and rant about your cousin much,
I shoudn't care if we had lost a dozen such.

Juliet.
Doctors will differ,—so do you and I.

Lady.
I've joyful news to tell you by and bye.

Juliet.
Tell it at once.

Lady.
Well then, next Thursday morn,
Paris, the German Count,—young, nobly born,
Gay, brisk and handsome, both in form and feature,
Will wed thee at the Church of old St. Peter.

Juliet.
Such sudden matches there is no supporting;
Why Ma'am, he has not even come a courting!
Pray tell Papa I cannot marry yet.

Lady.
Tell him yourself; he'll finely fume and fret:
See, here he comes. Enter Capulet and Nurse.

Capulet.
Well, wife, what says the lass?

Lady.
She thanks you, but won't marry.

Capulet.
What an Ass!
This noble match she ought to be quite proud of;
For fame the youthful German Count speaks loud of.

Juliet.
I can't be proud, because I do not like it:
Thank you, the bargain's bad, so I'll not strike it.

Capulet.
None of your thanks: next Thursday without fail,
Go to St. Peters, or at a Cart's tail
I'll have thee dragged there.

Juliet.
Oh! don't be so cruel.

Nurse.
Sir, you're too hot, and vent out too much fuel.

Capulet.
Silence, old fool! thy words are out of season:
Wife, I'm quite mad, the jade has turned my reason:
Turn out of doors you wench and lie i' the street,
And ne'er come back again to drink or eat.

Juliet.
I shall be soon as thin as a grasshopper.

Capulet.
Well! you may starve, Miss, I don't care a copper.

Juliet.
Dear Mother! stay the match a month or two.

Lady.
Not I; so wed or starve.

Juliet.
What shall I do?

Nurse.
I have it;—Romeo cannot now come back,
On pain of a sound whipping and the rack,
Unless by stealth; marry the Count also;
'Tis best;—for then you'll have two strings t' your bow.

Juliet.
Why I must own I should much like to do it,
But Romeo would be savage if he knew it.
Go, tell my Mother 'tis my resolution
To seek a Priest.

Nurse.
That's right—get absolution. [Exit.

Juliet.
I'll to the Friar, to know what's to be done.
Should all else fail; I'll die, or else turn nun.
To Love full many a lass has died a martyr;
Therefore I'll hang myself up in my garter:
If 'tis too short, I'll steal one from my mother:
I've only one, for Romeo has the other. [Exit.

SCENE II. The Monastery, Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris.

Friar.
On Thursday!

Paris.
Capulet that day does name;
And I can't put it off, of course, for shame.

Friar.
'Tis much too early, and besides I'll bet
My ears, you know not if she like you yet.

Paris.
For Tibalt's murder such a fuss she's making,
And always seems in such a tristful taking,
That, as for love, I cant say much about it:— Enter Juliet.
Here comes my wife that will be.

Juliet.
Sir, I doubt it.

Paris.
Indeed you will, on Thursday next, I wot.

Juliet.
I can't tell yet whether I shall or not.

Paris.
Come you to make confession to the Friar?

Juliet.
What if I do? what right have you t' inquire?
Are you at leisure, priest? If not, at Mass
This night, I'll come to you.

Friar.
No, stay, my lass. (To Paris.)
—Sir, to be off I beg you'll make a motion.

Paris
To mar your tete-a-tete I have no notion. [Exit.

Juliet.
Go, shut the door, my grief I can't endure;
I'll cry my eyes out, for I'm past all cure.

Friar.
Why I know all the secret.

Juliet.
Pray don't chatter.
Unless you'll tell one how to mend the matter;
If not, this instant, life for death I'll barter,
And quickly do my business with this garter.

Friar.
Hold, you don't seem to mind death a rope's end;
Therefore there's comfort yet you may depend;

For surely you'll dare any thing much rather
Than play the suicide?

Juliet.
Yes, reverend Father;
For Romeo's sake I'd leap from yonder tower,
Aye, or the topmast of a seventy-four;
He is my bosom's rightful lord and master.

Friar.
Peace! on thy mind's wound soon I'll put a plaister;
Get home as fast as possible,—seem merry;
And keep your spirits up with Port or Sherry;
Then say you'll marry Paris; but take care
The Nurse lies not at bed-time where you are:
When all is still and quiet, drink this liquor, (Producing a Bladder.)
Which through your youthful veins will run much quicker
Than Horses at a race; at first 'twill frolick
About your stomach, and bring on the cholick;
Then will your breath stop, and your heart cease beating;
Your face and lips will turn as white as sheeting;
Your eyes will close, as if Death pinned them down,
And you will seem quite dead. I'll wage a crown,
The trick will do: In two and forty hours
You'll wake as from a dream.

Juliet.
Oh! by the powers
I'll drink!

Friar.
Now when the bridegroom in the morn
Shall come, with marriage-favors to adorn

Thy bridal cap, there art thou dead as mutton;
Then all thy kindred dolorous black will put on,
And to the burying ground with you will trot:
Meantime, I'll write to Romeo all the plot;
Begging he'll ride post-haste: Then he and I
Will wake you, and to Mantua you shall fly.

Juliet.
Thy scheme is dangerous; nothing can be madder;
Howe'er, I'll try it; so give me the bladder. (Takes the Bladder.)

Friar.
Now, Mrs. Montague, begone, you'd better:
I'll send old Jack to Romeo with a letter.

Juliet.
Farewell! with you and Romeo, Father dear,
I hope ere long to drink a mug of Beer;
'Tis cheaper far at Mantua than 'tis here. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Capulet's House. Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Nurse.

Lady.
What, is she gone to gossip with the Friar?

Nurse.
She is.

Capulet.
Why that's stale news; I'll hang the cryer;
Tis nonsense to repeat things o'er and o'er;
You've told us so a dozen times before.
I hope he'll make the peevish chit consent.

Nurse.
See, here she comes, more gaily than she went. Enter Juliet, dancing and singing to the tune of Del Caro's Hornpipe.

Capulet.
Pray, where hast thou been gadding, thou young headstrong?

Juliet.
Where one has taught me that I have been led wrong,
In having thus opposed thy high behests:
Recall thy angry words.

Capulet.
They were but jests.
Send for the Count,—to-morrow you shall wed.

Juliet.
He's gone to take a walk, for so he said: (Dancing about.)
I saw him at the Friar's an hour ago,—
He bowed, and then, of course, I curtsied low.

Capulet.
That's a good girl.—We'll after Paris search;—
To-morrow you shall trip it off to church.
Fal, lal, la, &c. [Exeunt, dancing. SCENE IV. Juliet's Chamber. Enter Juliet.

Juliet.
Now bladder, do thy worst! (Takes the Bladder from her pocket.)
What if the Friar
Have hoaxed me after all, and played the liar!
Who knows? perhaps 'tis poison! well, I'll try it:
The man seems pious,—no one can deny it. (Drinks.)
Here's to thee, Romeo, Oh! what griping twinges!
The bitter draught my senses quite unhinges,— (Getting into Bed with much preparation.)
Methinks, these curtains sadly want new fringes. (Draws the Curtains.) Enter Nurse.

Nurse.
Come, come, Miss Juliet, pray turn out of bed.—
She's fast a sleep!—a downright lump of lead!
What, won't you stir? then, Madam, I'll soon make you.
Paris is waiting; therefore I must wake you.

Oh! mercy on me! Death her lips has sealed up;
Here's a fine botch! it never can be healed up:
Ho! Master!—Mistress, ho!— Enter Lady Capulet.

Lady.
Well, what's the matter?

Nurse.
O lamentable day! Come, and look at her;

Lady.
Oh, Juliet! turn thine eyes upon me, dear. Enter Capulet.

Capulet.
Why what the Devil makes you linger here?

Nurse.
She's dead as dishwater!

Capulet.
O dismal day!
Let me but see her—Oh, she's cold as clay!
Henceforth I'll nothing do but rave and bellow:—
Most luckless time! unfortunate old fellow! Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris.

Friar.
Is Juliet yet prepared to go to Church?

Capulet.
Yes, but when there, Sir, she'll be left i'th' lurch:

Death has obliged her all at once to halt:
She's now a corse.

Friar.
Then lay her in your vault.
Cheer up, don't cry so; 'tis no use.

Capulet.
That's true.

Friar.
I'll fetch the Undertaker—so adieu! [Exeunt. SCENE V. A Church Porch. Enter Friar Lawrence, Undertaker, and his Men. Fiddlers and Women in black.

Friar.
Now Fiddlers, scrape away, but let the air
Be merrier than the dirge;—Why do you stare?
Since Juliet's boxed, let's ape the military,
And drown our sorrow: off in couples pair ye:
We'll have a dance,—a funeral dance; what think ye?
Don't hang your heads down thus, but drink, boys, drink ye. (Presenting a Brandy Bottle and Glass, which is passed round.)
Let every man doff his black crape and hat-band,
And skip about.

Undertaker.
Hold, Sir, I cannot that stand:
To dance without our black would be a sin.

Friar.
Well, keep it on then; now, my lads. begin.

Undertaker.
Come, the Black Joke. (To the Fiddlers.) Let's have it in a crack.

Friar.
Why the Black Joke?

Undertaker.
Because the Joke is Black. (Fiddles strike up: the Dancers, Friar, &c. arrange themselves, and the whole party finally go off dancing.) SCENE VI. Mantua. Enter Romeo.

Romeo.
If last night's dreams prove true, I soon shall be
Dubb'd a Papa, and have much progeny.
I thought my wife, saluting me with kisses,
Presented three fine boys and two young misses,
And called them mine.

Enter Balthazar.
Ah, what's the news with you?
Come you straight from Verona?

Balthazar.
Sir, I do.

Romeo.
How fare my Spouse and Dad? come, quickly tell.

Balthazar.
Your Dad's but so, so.—

Romeo.
Say, is Juliet well?

Balthazar.
She's well provided for! her mouth and eyes
Are closed for ever.

Romeo.
Sirrah! don't tell lies.

Balthazar.
Upon my soul, she's dead? I hate deriding,
And rode post-haste to bear this tristful tiding.

Romeo.
This is bad news! I soon shall die o'th' vapour:
Go to my chamber; fetch pen, ink and paper.
Saddle my Pony; I'll be off to night.

Balthazar.
My Lord, I fly. (Walks leisurely off.)

Romeo.
Oh! what a luckless wight!
Juliet, I'll sleep with you to night—don't doubt it.
Now I'll bethink me how to set about it.

SONG.—Tune,—Rumpti-edity.
A Rat-Catcher dwells hereabout;
I ne'er shall forget the old sinner:
So lean were his phiz and his snout,
You'd have sworn he ate air for his dinner.
His bones fairly popp'd through his skin;
His eyes were deep sunk in their sockets,
And Rat-tails, long, short, thick and thin,
Hung dangling from each of his pockets.
Sing Ri fol de diddle dol de, &c.
Suspecting the fellow was poor
As a half-starved Church-Mouse, or a poet,
Quoth I, as I passed by his door,
(Faith this is the spot—I well know it.) (looking round)
Quoth I—if a man had an itch
By Arsenick to slip from life's shallows,
Here lives a sly son of a bitch,
Who wou'd sell it in spite of the gallows.
Sing Ri fol de diddle dol de, &c.
I'll call thee rogue, ho! Rat-catcher! what, ho! Enter Rat-catcher.

Rat-catcher.
Who calls?

Romeo.
Come here, thour't devlish poor I know; (Holding up a Dollar.)
There's five and sixpence for thee: now give me
A double dose of Arsenick; let it be

Quite strong enough to kill an Irish giant.

Rat-catcher.
I have it here, but Sir, you may rely on't,
No man in Mantua dares such stuff to utter.

Romeo.
If you refuse, I'll kick you in the gutter:
What, art so bare, yet fearful of the law?
Why, man, it cannot injure thee a straw!
You'd better take the money, Master, will you?

Rat-catcher.
Well, I'll consent, and yet I'm loth to kill you. (Exit, and re-enters with Snuff in a paper.)
This Snuff is mixed with Arsenick,—take a sniff,
But let it be a hearty one,—and if
It do not kill you, never trust me more.

Romeo.
That's a good fellow.—'Tis enough you're sure.

Rat-catcher.
Quite sure? 'tis mixed with Hellebore as well,
And other drugs whose names I can't well tell.

Romeo.
'Twill do.—There lantern-jaws, go, buy thee food. (Giving him the Money.)
And try to get thee into flesh and blood. [Exit Rat-catcher.
Come, deadly Snuff; to Juliet's grave we'll pack;
When once we're there, we'll ne'er again come back. [Exit.

SCENE VII. Enter Friar John.

John.
Hollo! my crony! lazy Lawrence, ho! Enter Friar Lawrence.

Friar.
Ha, Jack! is't you? pray what says Romeo?

John.
One of our cloth and I chancing to drink
Too much Gin Twist, were locked up in the Clink.
As through the streets we reeled, it seems, we spoke
Some amorous words, merely by way of joke,
To certain pert young Misses, as they came
From some Tea-kettle rout.—Pretending shame,—
They squalled so loudly that the watch appeared;
A constable soon grasped me by the beard,
And held me fast.—another lusty dog
Laid my friend sprawling, quickly, like a log.
To be concise,—they put us both in fetters,
Therefore I couldn't speed on with your letters.

Friar.
This sad mishap I fear will brood some ill:
But, Jack, go get a Pick-lock: run.

John.
I will. [Exit.

Friar.
Now, to the monument I'll go, and shake
With might and main, young Juliet, 'till she wake:
I doubt not she'll be happy to behold me,
Unless I stay too long,—and then she'll scold me. [Exit. SCENE VIII. A Church Yard. In it the Monument of the Capulets. Enter Paris, followed by a Page.

Paris.
Give me the candle, boy; and pray be off:
But, Sirrah, don't go far, and mind you cough
If any Scoundrel pop his nose this way;
Give me the bunch of Boyslove;—off, I say!
My girl! this Boyslove round thy bed I'll strew;
A token of the love I bore to you.
'Tis not the time of year for Pinks and Roses:— (Boy coughs.)
—He tips the signal! there'll be bloody noses:
I'll drub him tightly, whosoe'er he be,
Who thus breaks in upon my love and me. (Paris retires.) Enter Romeo, and Balthazar with a Lantern.

Romeo.
Let's have the Pick-lock,—to be plain with you,
I have mind my Juliet's phiz to view.

Besides, about her neck she has my cravat;
I only lent it her, and I will have it:
Don't further seek to know what I'd be at;
For if you do, I'll knock you down.

Balthazar.
That's flat.

Romeo.
Brush!

Balthazar.
Sir, I'm off. [Exit.

Romeo.
Thou worst of hungry maws!
Thus I'll begin to ope thy ugly jaws. (Tries to open the Lock.)

Paris. (Shewing himself.)
—Paws off, you dog! your body I arrest,
In our great Prince's name.

Romeo.
Begone! you'd best.

Paris. (Drawing a Sword Stick.)
—None of your gab!
I'll run you through and through.

Romeo.
Come on, my hearty! that's a game for two. (Draws a Sword stick also; they fight, Paris falls.)

Page.
Oh! they're hard at it! I'll go call the watch! [Exit.

Paris.
I'm drilled to death; no art can heal the botch;
Lay me alongside Juliet, pray, Sir, do. (Dies.)

Romeo.
I will, be easy, man,—but who are you?— (Turning him over.)
Count Paris! knit with me in sorrows knot;
This comes of being pepperish and hot.
Farewell, my Dragon! come, give me your hand;
And when from Styx among the Sprights you land,
Kiss you know whom, for me; pray, dont be shy. (Opens the door.)
After my bride and you I'll quickly hie.
Oh, Juliet! although Death has turned thee white,
Thou still looks't wond'rous pretty to my sight:
Now Death, I'll take thee at a pinch; here goes.— (Takes Snuff.)
It cuts a pretty caper in my nose. (Sneezes.)
Juliet, I am resolved to have one smack,
Ere the next sneeze shall lay me on my back: (Kisses her.)
—Her lips are warm,—that's odd! Hollo! she seems
To move!

Juliet. (Waking.)
—Where am I? I've had frightful dreams.

Romeo.
She speaks! Why this is very comical!
Rise, Juliet, rise!

Juliet.
I won't.

Romeo.
I say you shall. (Takes her from the Tomb.)

Juliet.
I wish you'd let me go. I'm Romeo's bride,
Therefore your offer, Paris, I deride;
I will not marry you, indeed I can't!

Romeo.
She's cracked, for certain, thus to rave and rant.
Come Juliet, rub your eyes my dear, don't sham;
I am your Romeo,—'pon my soul I am.

Juliet.
'Tis he indeed! O now I call to mind
The Friar's plot;—It went off well I find:
My darling spouse! Why do you turn away?
Let's kiss as we were wont to do, I pray. (Going to embrace him.)
Speak, speak! I faint; help, help! or I shall pass quick.

Romeo.
I cannot;—help yourself;—(Sneezes.)—O damn the Arsenick!

Juliet.
Arsenick? what mean you?

Romeo. (Shewing the paper.)
—Oh! the nasty snuff!

Juliet.
What, was it poisoned?

Romeo.
Poisoned sure enough:
When first you spoke, I felt such pleasure, that
I didn't recollect what I'd been at:
But now, the Snuff performs its office smartly,
I haven't time to tell all.

Juliet.
Tell me partly.

Romeo.
I wandered here to see thee, and to die.

Juliet.
The more fool you; but wherefore? tell me why.

Romeo.
I thought thee dead.

Juliet.
What did the Friar betray
The secret to the Count?

Romeo.
I cannot say,—
But seeing thee dead apparently and cold
I took this poisoned snuff,—now pray, don't scold;
And was about to lay me by thy side,
But found a living, not a ghostly bride.

Juliet.
And is it come to this?—How wrong you've acted!

Romeo.
I own it Juliet, and am quite distracted.

Juliet.
It seems the Arsenick vender didn't stint ye.

Romeo.
Fathers and Mothers, ye are cold and flinty!

Juliet.
Oh! Oh! my palpitating heart! Oh! Oh!

Romeo.
She's mine! you scoundrel Paris! let her go!
Be easy, Capulet! she is my own!
O Juliet! kiss me quickly! but, I'm gone! (Sneezes and dies.)

Juliet.
Stay but a moment,—and for thy dear sake
What of the Snuff remains I'll quickly take. Enter Friar Lawrence, with a Dark Lantern.

Friar.
What's this I see? there's blood upon the stones!
Alack! Alack! Alack!

Juliet.
Who is't that groans?

Friar.
Romeo and Paris butchered! Tell me, Miss,
What cursed accident occasioned this?

Juliet.
'Twas all your fault.

Friar.
Indeed, you're in the wrong;
I couldn't help it. Rise, and come along,—
Don't take it so to heart,—allay your terror;
And be assured it happened all in error.
Be patient, or the watch will hear your cries out.

Juliet.
Don't come near me, you dog! I'll scratch your eyes out!

Friar.
Come, trot this moment;—march, you saucy elf!
Dy'e want a spouse? I'll marry you myself:
Will you or will you not? I see you scoff;—
The Constables are coming! so I'm off! [Exit.

Juliet.
Begone!—(Taking up the paper of Snuff.)
What's here? the Snuff, upon my soul!
Romeo! it wasn't fair to take the whole.

Constable. (Within.)
—Lead on, my boy.

Juliet.
Now garter lend assistance;
I see some fellows coming at a distance.
O for some friendly nail or peg to hang from! (Looks about for a nail in the wall but finds none.)
Bones of my ancestors, which my bones sprang from!
Do you relieve me quickly from my pains;
Since I can't hang, I'll e'en knock out my brains: (Takes up a couple of thigh bones, and beats her head.)
I've cracked my scull. (Dies.)

Enter Page.

Page.
So, here's a pretty mess! Enter the Prince, Attendants, and Constables, with the Friar.

Prince.
Is this the place?

Page.
An' please your Highness, yes.

Prince.
What do I see? (Putting on his Spectacles.) Enter Capulet.

Capulet.
What's all this fuss about?
The folks on Romeo in the street cry out.

Constable.
Romeo and Paris cheek-by-jowl lie slain;
Juliet, thought dead before, is dead again;
She's newly killed, her body still is hot.

Capulet.
Dear me, I wonder who'll go next to pot!

Enter Montague.

Prince.
O Montague! thou'rt out of bed right early,
To be spectator of this hurly-burly.

Montague.
My Wife died suddenly, at twelve o'clock,
This very night,—she couldn't bear the shock
Of Romeo's transportation;—What new woe
Hast thou to tell?

Prince.
Look there, and you'll soon know.

Montague.
'Tis mannerless to die before thy Dad:
I wish I had died first.

Prince.
I wish you had.
Bring forth the blackguards whom your doubt most rest on.

Friar.
I'm the unlucky dog whom they have prest on.

Prince.
Confess the truth directly.

Friar.
Let's retire;
I'll tell you all, and if I prove a liar,
Let me be thumped to death with hearty blows;
And hang my carcase up to scare the crows.

Prince.
Hot-headed Montague and Capulet,
Well may you rant, and fume, and storm, and fret:
Well may you shake your old heads and look wist;
For to a damned bad mill you've brought your grist.
But it shall not be said, 'midst all this fury,
We hanged a Churchman without judge or jury.
Let's brush;—this matter greatly me surprises:
We'll try the Friar at the next Assizes. [Exeunt omnes. FINIS. Jenkins, Printer, 7, Old Town Street, Plymouth.

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