Act III. Scene I.Verona. A Public Place.
Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and
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;
For now, these hot days, is the mad blood
Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows that
when he enters the confines of a tavern daps
me his sword upon 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.
Ben. Am I like such a fellow?
Mer. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in
thy mood as any in Italy; and as soon moved to
be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.
Ben. And what to?
Mer. Nay, 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 beard than
thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for
cracking nuts, having no other reason but be-
cause 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 fall of
meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as
addle as an egg for quarrelling. Then 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 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!
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!
Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets.
Mer. By my heel, I care not.
Enter TYBALT, and Others.
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
Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that,
sir, an you will give me occasion.
Mer. Could you not take some occasion with-
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!
Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of
Either withdraw unto 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
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.
Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir. Here
comes my man.
Mer. But I'll be hang'd, sir, if he wear your
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
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
To such a greeting; villain am I none,
Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me
Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast done me; therefore turn and
Rom. I do protest I never injured 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 my own, be satisfied.
Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission
Alla stoccata carries it away. [Draws.
Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?
Tyb. What wouldst 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. [Drawing.] I am for you.
Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [They fight.
Rom. Draw, Benvolio; beat down their wea-
Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage!
Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath
Forbidden bandying in Verona streets.
Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio!
[Exeunt TYBALT and his Partisans.
Mer. I am hurt.
A plague o' 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
Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.
Rom. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be
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.
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
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 my kinsman. O sweet Juliet!
Thy beauty hath made me effeminate,
And in my temper soften'd valour's steel!
Ben. O Romeo, Komeo! brave Mercutio's
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
This but begins the woe others must end.
Ben. Here comes the furious Tybalt back
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
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
If thou art taken: hence! be gone! away!
Rom. O! I am Fortune's fool.
Ben. Why dost thou stay?
Enter Citizens, &c.
First Cit. Which way ran he that killed
Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?
Ben. There lies that Tybalt.
First 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
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.
Lady Cap. Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's
O prince! O cousin! husband! O! the blood
Of my dear kinsman. Prince, as thou art true,
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
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
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 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 Cap. 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;
Komeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.
Prin. Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio;
Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?
Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's
His fault concludes but what the law should end,
The life of Tybalt.
Prin. 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