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And what to?
MERCUTIO:
Nay, an there were two such, we should have none
shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why,
thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more,
or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast: thou
wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no
other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes: what
eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel?
Thy head is as fun of quarrels as an egg is full of
meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as
an egg for quarrelling: thou hast quarrelled with a
man for coughing in the street, because he hath
wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun:
didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing
his new doublet before Easter? with another, for
tying his new shoes with old riband? and yet thou
wilt tutor me from quarrelling!
BENVOLIO:
An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man
should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.
MERCUTIO:
The fee-simple! O simple!
BENVOLIO:
By my head, here come the Capulets.
MERCUTIO:
By my heel, I care not.
TYBALT:
Follow me close, for I will speak to them.
Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you.
MERCUTIO:
And but one word with one of us? couple it with
something; make it a word and a blow.
TYBALT:
You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you
will give me occasion.
MERCUTIO:
Could you not take some occasion without giving?
TYBALT:
Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,--
MERCUTIO:
Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an
thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but
discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall
make you dance. 'Zounds, consort!
BENVOLIO:
We talk here in the public haunt of men:
Either withdraw unto some private place,
And reason coldly of your grievances,
Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.
MERCUTIO:
Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze;
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.
TYBALT:
Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man.
MERCUTIO:
But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery:
Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower;
Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.'
TYBALT:
Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford
No better term than this,--thou art a villain.
ROMEO:
Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
To such a greeting: villain am I none;
Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not.
TYBALT:
Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw.
ROMEO:
I do protest, I never injured thee,
But love thee better than thou canst devise,
Till thou shalt know the reason of my love:
And so, good Capulet,--which name I tender
As dearly as my own,--be satisfied.
MERCUTIO:
O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!
Alla stoccata carries it away.
Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?