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 ribband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling! Ben. An 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. Mer. The fee-simple? O simple! Enter TYBALT, and others. Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. 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 consortest 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 public 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: Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? [Draws. Tyb. 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, 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. Tyb. I am for you, [Drawing. Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. [They fight. Beat down their weapons: Gentlemen, for shame 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. 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 arithmetic!-Why, the devil, came you between us? I was hurt under your arm. Rom. I thought all for the best. 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 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 depend; This but begins the woe, others must end. Re-enter TY BALT. Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back again. Rom. Alive! in triumph! and Mercutio slain! And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now!— 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-be gone!-away! Rom. O! I am fortune's fool! Ben. 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 ? La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin !-O my brother's child! 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 |