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

Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving?

Tyb. Mercutio, thou consort'st 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 publick haunt of men: Either withdraw into some private place,

Or 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, I.

Enter ROMEO.

Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir! here comes my

man.

Mer. 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.

Tyb. Romeo, the hate 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 know'st 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

And so, good Capulet,

--

my love:

which name I tender

As dearly as mine own,- be satisfied.

Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!

A la stoccata 2 carries it away.

Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?

Tyb. What would'st thou have with me?

[Draws.

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, eight. Will you pluck your

dry-beat the rest of the sword out of his pilcher

by the ears 3? make haste, lest mine be about your ears

ere it be out.

Tyb. I am for you.

Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.

Mer. Come, sir, your passado.

Rom. Draw, Benvolio;

[Drawing.

[They fight.

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.
[Exeunt TYBALT and his Partizans.

-

Mer. I am hurt;
A plague o' both the 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.

? A la stoccata-] Stoccata is the Italian term for a thrust or stab with a rapier.

3 Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears?] We should read pilche, which signifies a cloke or coat of skins, meaning the scabbard.

VOL. VIII.

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 arithmetick! - 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 worm's meat of me :

I have it, and soundly too:- 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 stain'd

With Tybalt's slander, Tybalt, that an hour
Hath been kinsman :
my

- O sweet Juliet,

Thy beauty hath made me effeminate,

And in my temper soften'd valour's steel.

Re-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.

Rom. This day's black fate on more days doth de

This but begins the woe, others must end.

Re-enter TYBALT.

Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.

+ This day's black fate on more days doth depend;] This day's unhappy destiny hangs over the days yet to come. There will yet be

more mischief.

Rom. Alive! in triumph! and Mercutio slain ! Away to heaven, respective lenity,"

--

And fire-ey'd 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.

Tyb. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, Shalt with him hence.

Rom.

This shall determine that.

[They fight; TYBALT falls.

Ben. 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 !
Rom. O! I am fortune's fool!

Ben.

be gone!
!- away!

Why dost thou stay? [Exit ROMEO.

Enter Citizens, &c.

1 Cit. Which way ran he, that kill'd Mercutio? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?

Ben. There lies that Tybalt.

1 Cit.

Up, sir, go with me;

I charge thee in the prince's name, obey.

Enter Prince, attended; MONTAGUE, CAPULET, their
Wives, and Others.

Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this fray?
Ben. 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.

5

respective lenity,] Cool, considerate gentleness. 6 be my conduct now!] Conduct for conductor.

La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin!-O my brother's child! Unhappy sight! ah me, the blood is spill'd

Of my dear kinsman! - Prince, as thou art true, 7
For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. -
O cousin, cousin!

Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?

Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay;

Romeo that spoke him fair,

bade 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 light'ning; 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.

La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague,
Affection makes him false 9, he speaks not true:

7 as thou art true,] as thou art just and upright. 8 How nice] How slight, how unimportant, how petty. 9 Affection makes him false,] The charge of falsehood on Benvolio, though produced at hazard, is very just. The author, who seems