Dramatis Perfona.
Mr. Garrick.
Mr. Bransby.
Mr. Lacey.
Mr. Burton.
Mountague,
Capulet,
Mercutio,
Benvolio,
Citizens of Verona, feveral men and women
relations to Capulet, Maskers, Guards,
and other Attendants,
The SCENE, in the beginning of the fifth act, is in Mantua; during all the rest of the Play, in and near Verona.
The Street in Verona.
*****
Enter Samplon and Gregory D
isbud
SAMPSON.
REGORY, Iftrike quickly, being mov'd.
Greg. But thou art not quickly mov'd to
wwab
ftrike.
Sam, A dog of the houfe of Mountague
18)
DTB moves me.
Greg. Draw thy tool then, for here come of that house.
Enter Abram and Balthafar.
Sam. My naked weapon is out; Quarrel, I will back thee, but -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.
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, Sir?
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.
A 4
Greg. Do you quarrel, Sir?
Abr. Quarrel, Sir? no, Sir.
Sam. If you do, Sir, I am for you: I ferve as good a
Abr. No better, Sir.
Sam. Well, Sir.
Enter Benvolio.
Greg. Say better: here comes one of my mafter's kinfmen.
Sam. Yes, better, Sir.
Abr. You lye.
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 Tibalt.
Tib. What, art thou drawn amongst these heartless
hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
O but keep the peace; put up thy fword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.
Ben. I
Tib. What drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word As I hate hell, all Mountagues and thee:
Ha
at thee, coward.
[Fight.
0114
Enter three or four citizens with clubs.
Offi. Clubs, bills, and partifans! ftrike! beat them
down.
Down with the Capulets, down with the Mountagues.
Enter old Capulet in his Gown.
Cap. What noife is this? give me my fword,
My fword, I fay: old Mountague is come,
And flourishes his blade in spite of me.
Enter old Mountague.
Moun. Thou villain, Capulet
me go.
Enter Prince with Attendants.
Prin. Rebellious fubjects, enemies to peace, Prophaners of your neighbour-ftained fteel. Will they not hear? what ho! you men ! beasts,
you
That
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage,
With purple fountains iffuing from your veins;
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mif- temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Mountague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets:
Aud made Verona's ancient citizens
Caft by their grave befeeming ornaments;
To wield old partizans in hands as old.
If ever you affright 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.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
[Exeunt Prince and Capulet, &c.
SCENE
II.
Manent Mountague and Benvolio.
'HO fet this ancient quarrel now abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
Ben. Here were the fervants of your adversary,
And yours, close 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,
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.
Moun. O where is Romeo? Saw you him to day?
Right glad am I, he was not at this fray.
Ben. My lord, an hour before the worshipp'd fun
Peer'd through the golden window of the Eaft,
A troubled mind drew me to walk abroad;
A 5
Where underneath the grove of fycamoor,
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,
(That moft are bufied when they're most alone,)
Purfu'd my humour, not purfuing him,
And gladly fhunn'd, who gladly fled from me.
Moun. Many a morning hath he there been feen
With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew;
But all fo foon as the all-chearing fun
Should, in the farthest eaft, begin to draw
The fhady curtains from Aurora's bed;
Away from light fteals 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,
Unlefs good counsel may the cause remove.
Ben. my noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Moun. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him.
Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Moun. Both by myself and many other friends;
But he, his own affection's counsellor,
Is to himself, I will not fay, how true;
But to himself fo fecret and fo close.
So far from founding and discovery;
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his fweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the fun.
Ben. So please you, Sir, Mercutio and myself
Are most near to him; be't that our years,
Statures, births, fortunes, ftudies, inclinations,
Measure the rule of his, I know not; but
Friendship ftill loves to ført him with his like.
We will attempt upon his privacy,
And could we learn from whence his forrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure, as knowledge.
Meun. 'Twill bind us to you: good Benvolio, go.
Ben. We'll know his grievance, or be hard denied.
[Exeunt feverally.
SCENE
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