The Street in Verona,

Enter Samplon and Gregory, with fwords and bucklers, two fervants of the Capulets.

SAM P.S o N.

REGORY, on my word we'll not carry
coals..

Greg. No, for then we fhould be colliers,
Sam. I ftrike quickly, being mov'd.
Greg. But thou art not quickly mov'd
to ftrike.

Sam. A dog of the houfe of Mountague moves me. Greg. To move, is to ftir; and to be valiant, is to ftand: therefore, if thou art mov'd, thou runn'ft away. Sam. A dog of that houfe fhall move me to ftand: I will take the wall of any man or maid of Mountague's. Greg. That fhews thee a weak flave, for the weakeft goes to the wall. goes to

and therefore women, being the weakSam. True, eft veffels, are ever thruft to the wall: therefore I will push Mountague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.

Greg.

Greg. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men.

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will fhew my felf a tyrant when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads.

Greg. The heads of the maids?

a

Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads, take it in what sense thou wilt.

Greg. They must take it in fenfe that feel it.

Sam. Me they fhall feel while I am able to ftand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.

Greg. 'Tis well thou art not fifh: if thou hadft, thou hadft been Poor John. Draw thy tool, here comes of the house of the Mountagues.

Enter Abram and Balthafar.

Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee.

Greg. How turn thy back and run?

Sam. Fear me not,

Greg. No, marry: I fear thee..

Sam. Let us take the law of our fides: let them begin. Greg. I will frown as I pafs by, and let them take it as they lift.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is a difgrace to them, if they bear it. Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, Sir?

Sam. I do bite my thumb, Sir.

Sir?

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us,
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.

a civil.

+ Emer

Enter Benvolio.

Greg. Say better: here comes one of my mafter's kinfmen.

Sam. Yes, better, Sir.

Abr. You lie.

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

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

Enter Tybalt.

CR 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 draw, and talk of peace? I hate the word As I hate hell, all Mountagues and thee:

Have at thee, coward.

Enter three or four citizens with clubs.

[Fight.

Offic. Clubs, bills, and partifans! ftrike! beat them

down,

Down with the Capulets, down with the Mountagues. Enter old Capulet in his gown, and lady Capulet.

Cap. What noife is this? give me my long fword, ho? La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch: why call you for fword?

Cap. A fword, I fay: old Mountague is come, And flourishes his blade in fpight of me.

Enter old Mountague and lady Mountague..

Moun. Thou villain, Capulet

let me go.

Hold me not,

La. Moun. Thou shalt not ftir a foot to feek a foe.

Enter

Much of this Scene is added fince the first edition; but probably by Shakespear, fince we find it in that of the year 1599.

4

Enter Prince with attendants.

Prin. Rebellious fubjects, enemies to peace,
Prophaners 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 thefe bloody hands
Throw your mif-temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the fentence of your moved prince.
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Mountague,
Have thrice difturb'd the quiet of our streets,
And made Verona's antient citizens
Caft by their grave befeeming ornaments;
If ever you difturb our streets again,
Your lives fhall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time all the reft depart away,
You, Capulet, fhall go along with me;
And, Mountague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this cafe,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place:
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

*

[Exeunt Prince and Capulet, on

SCENE

II.

La. Moun. 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, clofe fighting, ere I did approach; I drew to part them: In the instant came The fiery Tibalt, with his fword prepar'd, Which as he breath'd defiance to my ears,

✰ befeeming ornaments,
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Cankred with peace, to part your cankred hate;
If ever you &C.

He

He fwung about his head, and cut the winds. While we were interchanging thrufts and blows, Came more and more, and fought on part and part, -Till the Prince came.

La. Moun. O where is Romeo!

Right glad am I, he was not at this fray.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worfhipp'd fun Peep'd through the golden window of the Eaft, A troubled mind drew me from company Where underneath the grove of fycamour, That weftward rooteth from this city fide," So early walking did I fee your fon. Tow'rds him I made, but he was 'ware of me, And ftole into the covert of the wood. I measuring his affections by my own,

b That most are bufied when they're most alone, Purfued my humour, not purfuing his;

And gladly fhun'd, who gladly fled from me.
Moun Many a morning hath he there been seen
With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew;
But all fo foon as the all-cheering fun
Should, in the fartheft eaft, 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 must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?

b Edition 1597. Instead of which it is in the other editions thus. - by my own,

Which then moft fought, where most might not be found,

Being one too many by my weary self,

Purfued my humour, &c.

The ten lines following not in Ed. 1597, but in the text of 1599.

VoL. VIII,

F

Moun.