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. [Draws.]
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 pitcher by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.
Tybalt.
I am for you. [Drawing.]
Romeo.
Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
Mercutio.
Come, sir, your passado.
[They fight.]
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!—
[Exeunt Tybalt with his Partizans.]
Mercutio.
I am hurt;—
A plague o’ both your 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.
[Exit Page.]
Romeo.
Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.
Mercutio. No, ‘tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; but ‘tis enough, ‘twill serve: ask for me tomorrow, 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.
Romeo.
I thought all for the best.
Mercutio.
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 it, and soundly too.—Your houses!
[Exit Mercutio and Benvolio.]
Romeo.
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.
[Re-enter Benvolio.]
Benvolio.
O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio’s dead!
That gallant spirit hath aspir’d the clouds,
Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.
Romeo.
This day’s black fate on more days doth depend;
This but begins the woe others must end.
Benvolio.
Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.
Romeo.
Alive in triumph! and Mercutio slain!
Away to heaven respective lenity,
And fire-ey’d fury be my conduct now!—
[Re-enter Tybalt.]
Now, Tybalt, take the ‘villain’ back again
That late thou gavest 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,
Shalt with him hence.
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?
[Exit Romeo.]
[Enter Citizens, &c.]
1 Citizen.
Which way ran he that kill’d Mercutio?
Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?
Benvolio.
There lies that Tybalt.
1 Citizen. Up, sir, go with me; I charge thee in the prince’s name obey.
[Enter Prince, attended; Montague, Capulet, their Wives, and others.]
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 husband!—O, the blood is spill’d
Of my dear kinsman!—Prince, as thou art true,
For blood of ours shed blood of Montague.—
O cousin, cousin!
Prince.
Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?
Benvolio.
Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo’s hand did slay;
Romeo, that spoke 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