Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, and Men.
BENVOLIO:
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,
For now these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.
MERCUTIO:
Thou art like one of these fellows,
that when he enters the confines of a tavern,
claps me his sword on the table, and says,
God send me no need of thee:
and by the operation of the second cup,
draws him on the drawer, when indeed there is no need.
BENVOLIO:
Am I like such a fellow?
MERCUTIO:
Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood
as any in Italy: and as soon mov'd to be moody,
and as soon moody to be mov'd.
MERCUTIO:
Nay and 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,
but because thou hast hazel eyes:
what eye, but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel?
Thy head is as full of quarrels, as an egg is full of meat,
and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg
for quarreling: thou hast quarrel'd 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:
And 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 comes 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,
and you will give me occasion.
MERCUTIO:
Could you not take some occasion without giving?
TYBALT:
Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo.
MERCUTIO:
Consort, what dost thou make us minstrels?
And thou make minstrels of us,
look to hear nothing but discords:
here 's that shall make you dance:
BENVOLIO:
We talk here in the public haunt of men:
Either withdraw unto some private place,
Or 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 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.
TYBALT:
Romeo, the love 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 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.
MERCUTIO:
O calm, dishonourable, vile submission:
Alla stoccata carries it away.
Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?
TYBALT:
What wouldst thou have with me?
MERCUTIO:
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 pilcher by the ears?
Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.
ROMEO:
Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
MERCUTIO:
Come sir, your passado.
ROMEO:
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.>
A plague o' both houses, I am sped:
Is he gone and hath nothing?
BENVOLIO:
What art thou hurt?
MERCUTIO:
Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch, marry 'tis enough.
Where is my page? Go villain, fetch a surgeon.
ROMEO:
Courage man, the hurt cannot be much.
MERCUTIO:
No 'tis not so deep as a well,
nor so wide as a churchdoor,
but 'tis enough, 'twill serve:
and you shall find me a grave man.
I am peppered I warrant, for this world,
a plague a' 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.
ROMEO:
I thought all for the best.
MERCUTIO:
Help me into some house Benvolio,
Or I shall faint, a plague a' both your houses,
They have made worms' meat of me,
I have it, and soundly, to your houses.
Exeunt Mercutio and Benvolio.
ROMEO:
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 cousin: O sweet Juliet,
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate,
And in my temper soften'd valour's steel.
BENVOLIO:
O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio is dead,
That gallant spirit hath aspir'd the clouds,
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.
ROMEO:
This day's black fate, on moe days doth depend;
This but begins, the woe others must end.
BENVOLIO:
Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.
ROMEO:
He gone in triumph, and Mercutio slain?
Away to heaven, respective lenity,
And fire and fury, be my conduct now,
Now Tybalt take the villain back again,
That late thou gav'st me, for Mercutio's soul
Is but a little way above our heads,
Staying for thine to keep him company:
Either thou or I, or both, must go with him.
TYBALT:
Thou wretched boy that didst consort him here,
ROMEO:
This shall determine that.
They fight. Tybalt falls.
BENVOLIO:
Romeo, away be gone:
The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain,
Stand not amaz'd, the Prince will doom thee death,
If thou art taken, hence be gone away.
ROMEO:
O I am fortune's fool.
BENVOLIO:
Why dost thou stay?
CITIZEN:
Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio?
Tybalt that murtherer, which way ran he?
BENVOLIO:
There lies that Tybalt.
CITIZEN:
Up sir, go with me:
I charge thee in the Prince's name obey.
Enter Prince, old Montague, Capulet, their Wives, and all.
PRINCE:
Where are the vile beginners of this fray?
BENVOLIO:
O noble Prince, I can discover all
The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl:
There lies the man slain by young Romeo,
That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.
LADY CAPULET:
Tybalt, my cousin, O my brother's child,
O Prince, O cousin, husband, O the blood is spilt
Of my dear kinsman, Prince as thou art true,
For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.
PRINCE:
Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?
BENVOLIO:
Tybalt here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay,
Romeo that spake him fair, bid him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal
Your high displeasure: all this uttered,
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast,
Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
And with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
Cold death aside, and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,
Hold friends, friends part, and swifter than his tongue,
His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
And 'twixt them rushes, underneath whose arm,
An envious thrust from Tybalt, hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled,
But by and by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
And to 't they go like lightning, for ere I
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain:
And as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly:
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.
LADY CAPULET:
He is a kinsman to the Montague,
Affection makes him false, he speaks not true:
Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,
And all those twenty could but kill one life.
I beg for justice, which thou Prince must give:
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.
PRINCE:
Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio,
Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe.
MONTAGUE:
Not Romeo Prince, he was Mercutio's friend,
His fault concludes, but what the law should end,
PRINCE:
And for that offence,
Immediately we do exile him hence:
I have an interest in your hate's proceeding:
My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding.
But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine,
That you shall all repent the loss of mine.
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses,
Nor tears, nor prayers shall purchase out abuses.
Therefore use none, let Romeo hence in haste,
Else when he 's found, that hour is his last.
Bear hence this body, and attend our will,
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.