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That idles in the wanton summer air,
And yet not fall, so light is vanity.

Enter Romeo and Juliet.
Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor.
Fri. Romeo shall thank thee, daughter, for us both.

Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill be more

To blazon it; then sweeten with thy breath
This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue
Unfold the imagin'd happiness, that both
Receive in either, by this dear encounter.

Jul, Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,
Brags of his substance, not of ornament:
They are but beggars, that can count their worth ;
But my true love is grown to such excess,
I cannot sum up one half of my wealth.

Fri. Come, come with me; For, by your leaves, you shall not stay alone, Till holy church incorporate two in one. [Ereunt.



The Street.

Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire:
The day is hot, the Capulets abroad,
And, if we meet, we shall not 'scape a brawl.

Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows, that, when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and says, God send me no need of thee ! and by the operation of a second cup, draws it on the drawer, when indeed, there is no need.

Ben. Am I like such a fellow?

Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; 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 head than thou hast: thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason, but because thou hast hazel eyes; 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 taylor, for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another, for tying his new shoes with old ribband? and yet thou wilt tutor me for quarrelling!

Ben. If 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.

Enter TIBALT and Two SERVANTS. Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. Mer. By my heel, I care not.

Tib. Be near at hand, 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.

Tib. You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, if you will give me occasion.

Mer. Could you not take some occasion, without giving?

Tib. Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo.

Mer. Consort? what, dost thou make us minstrels ? if thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing




but discords: here's my fiddle stick, here's that shall make you dance, zounds! consort!

[Laying his Hand on his Sword. Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men; Either withdraw into some private place, Or reason coolly 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, I.

Enter ROMEO. Tib. Well, peace be with you, sir, here comes my Mer. But I'll be hang’d, sir, if he wear your livery.

Tib. Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford No better term than this; thou art a villain.

Rom. Tibalt, the reason, that I have to love thee, Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting : villain I am none; Therefore farewell, I see thou know'st me not.

Tib. 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 : And so, good Capulet, (whose name I tender As dearly as my own) be-satisfied. [Erit TIBALT,

Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission !-Ha! la stoccata carries it away—Tibalt-you ratcatcher.

Tib. What would'st thou have with me?

Mer. Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives, that I mean to make bold withal. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears; make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out. Tib. I am for

(Drawing Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.

you, sir.

Mer. Come, sir, your passado.

Rom. Draw, Benvolio-beat down their weapons.-
Gentlemen--for shame, forbear this outrage-
Hold, Tibalt, good Mercutio [Exit TIBALT.

Mer. I am hurt
A plague of 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. Go, fetch a surgeon.

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: I am peppered, I warrant, for this world.- A plague of both your houses !

-What? 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


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 ; plague o' both your,

houses ! [Exeunt MERCUTIo and BenvoLIO
Rom. This gentleman, the Prince's near ally,
My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt
In my behalf; my reputation's stain'd
With Tibalt's slander: O sweet Juliet,
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate,
And in my temper softened valour's steel.

Enter Benvolio.
Ben. O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead;
That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds,
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth,
Here comes the furious Tibalt back again,

Rom. Alive ? in triumph ? and Mercutio slain; Away to Heav'n respective lenity, And fire ey'd fury be my conduct now!

Enter TiBALT.
Now, Tibalt, take the villain back again,
That late thou gav'st me : for Mercutio's soul
Is but a little way above our heads,
And thou or I must keep him company.

[They fight, and Tibalt falls.
Ben. Romeo, away, begone:
The citizens are up, and Tibalt slain-
Stand not amaz'd, the Prince will doom thee death,
If thou art taken: hence, begone, away!

Rom. Oh! I am fortune's fool. [Exit ROMEO.


Prince. Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

Ben. O noble Prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage of this fatal quarrel : There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.

Cap. Unhappy sight! Alas, the blood is spill’d Of my dear kinsman Now, as thou art a Prince, For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.

Prince. Benvolio, who began this fray?

Ben. Tibalt, here slain ; Romeo, bespake him fair, bid him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal Your high displeasure : all this, uttered With gentle breath, calm looks, knees humbly bow'd, Could not make truce with the unruly spleen Of Tibalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts With piercing stcel at bold Mercutio's breast; Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And with a martial scorn with one hand beats

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