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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 an old riband? And yet thou wilt |
tutor me from quarrelling! |
Ben. 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. |
Mer. The fee simple? O simple! |
Enter Tybalt and others. |
Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. |
Mer. By my heel, I care not. |
Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them. |
Gentlemen, good den. A word with one of you. |
Mer. And but one word with one of us? |
Couple it with something; make it a word and a blow. |
Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me |
occasion. |
Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving |
Tyb. Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo. |
Mer. 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! |
Ben. 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. |
Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. |
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, |
Enter Romeo. |
Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir. Here comes my man. |
Mer. But I'll be hang'd, 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. |
Tyb. Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford |
No better term than this: thou art a villain. |
Rom. 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 knowest me not. |
Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries |
That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw. |
Rom. I do protest I never injur'd 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 mine own, be satisfied. |
Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! |
Alla stoccata carries it away. [Draws.] |
Tybalt, you ratcatcher, will you walk? |
Tyb. What wouldst thou have with me? |
Mer. Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives. That I |
mean to make bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, |
dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of |
his pitcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears |
ere it be out. |
Tyb. I am for you. [Draws.] |
Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. |
Mer. Come, sir, your passado! |
[They fight.] |
Rom. Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. |
Gentlemen, for shame! forbear this outrage! |
Tybalt, Mercutio, the Prince expressly hath |
Forbid this bandying in Verona streets. |
Hold, Tybalt! Good Mercutio! |
Tybalt under Romeo's arm thrusts Mercutio in, and flies |
[with his Followers]. |
Mer. I am hurt. |
A plague o' both your houses! I am sped. |
Is he gone and hath nothing? |
Ben. What, art thou hurt? |
Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, 'tis enough. |
Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon. |
[Exit Page.] |
Rom. Courage, man. The hurt cannot be much. |
Mer. No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; |
but 'tis enough, 'twill serve. Ask for me to-morrow, and you |
shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this |
world. A plague o' both your houses! Zounds, a dog, a rat, a |
mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a |
villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic! Why the devil |
came you between us? I was hurt under your arm. |
Rom. I thought all for the best. |
Mer. Help me into some house, Benvolio, |
Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses! |
They have made worms' meat of me. I have it, |
And soundly too. Your houses! |
[Exit. [supported by Benvolio]. |
Rom. This gentleman, the Prince's near ally, |
My very friend, hath got this mortal hurt |
In my behalf- my reputation stain'd |
With Tybalt's slander- Tybalt, that an hour |
Hath been my kinsman. O sweet Juliet, |
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate |
And in my temper soft'ned valour's steel |
Enter Benvolio. |
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