Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants. 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 stirring. Mer. Thou art like one of those fellows, that, when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and says, Heaven send me no need of thee! and, by the operation of the second cup, draws it on the drawer, when, indeed, there is

no need.

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

as an egg

hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes; What eye, but such an eye, would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels full of meat; and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrelling. Thou 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!

Enter TYBALT, and others.

Ben. By my head, here come the Capulets. Mer. By my heel, I care not. 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. 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 - Villain am I none; To such a greeting : 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 my love: And so, good Capulet, which name I tender As dearly as mine own, be satisfied. Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! A la stoccata 9 carries it away. 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. I am for [Drawing. Rom. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. Mer. Come, sir, your passado. [They fight. Rom. Draw, Benvolio;

1

you.

[Draws.

Beat down their weapons: - Gentlemen, for shame; Forbear this outrage; Tybalt. - MercutioThe prince expressly hath forbid this bandying In Verona streets :- — hold, Tybalt; - good Mercutio. [Exeunt TYBALT and his Partisans. Mer. I am hurt;

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! A dog, a rat, a gart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a bragarithmetick! us? I was hurt under your arm. Why, the devil, came you between

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.

? The Italian term for a thrust or stab with a rapier,
1 Case or scabbard.

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 lis
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 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.

La 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;
Romeo 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 friend;

His fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt.

Prin.

And, for that offence, Immediately we do exíle him hence: I have an interest in your hates' proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a bleeding; But I'll amerce 7 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. [Exeunt

SCENE II.

A Room in Capulet's House. Enter JULIET.

Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,

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.
La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's

child!

As Phaeton would whip you to the west,
And bring in cloudy night immediately. -
Spread thy close curtain, and come, civil 8 night,
Thou sober-suited matron, all in black:
Come, night! - Come, Romeo! come, thou day in
night!

For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on a raven's back. -

Come, gentle night; come, loving, black-brow'd night,

Give me my Romeo: and when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine,
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish 9 sun. —
Enter Nurse, with Cords.

Here comes my nurse,
And she brings news; and every tongue, that speaks,
But Romeo's name, speaks heavenly eloquence.
Punish by fine. s Grave, solemn.
9 Gaudy, showy.

Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin?

Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours' wife, have mangled it? But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband: Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.

Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but I',
And that bare vowel I shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice :
I am not I, if there be such an I:

Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer, I.
If he be slain, say—I; or if not, no:
Brief sounds determine of my weal, or woe,
Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,-
'Twas here, e'en here, upon his manly breast:
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,
All in gore blood; I swoonded at the sight.

Jul. O break, my heart! — poor bankrupt, break at once!

To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty!
Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here;
And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier!
Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had!
O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!
That ever I should live to see thee dead!

Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary?
Is Romeo slaughter'd; and is Tybalt dead?
My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord?
Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!
For who is living, if those two are gone?

Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished. Jul. O heaven!-did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?

Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day! it did. Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flow'ring face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish ravening lamb! Despised substance of divinest show! Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st: Was ever book, containing such vile matter, So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell In such a gorgeous palace!

Nurse.

There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjur'd, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. Ah, where's my man? give me some aqua vitæ : — These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old. Shame come to Romeo!

Jul.

Blister'd be thy tongue, For such a wish! he was not born to shame : Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; For 'tis a throne where honour may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth.

O, what a beast was I to chide at him!

1 In Shakspeare's time the affirmative particle ay, was usually written 1, and here it is necessary to retain the old spelling.

And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband:

-

Tybalt's death

All this is comfort; Wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, That murder'd me: I would forget it fain; But, O! it presses to my memory, Like horrid guilty deeds to sinners' minds: Tybalt is dead, and Romeo - banished; Thatbanished, that one word — banished, Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Was woe enough, if it had ended there: Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship, And needly will be rank'd with other griefs, Why follow'd not, when she said - Tybalt's dead, Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, Which modern 2 lamentation might have mov'd? But, with a rear-ward following Tybalt's death, | Romeo is banished, -to speak that word, Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, All slain, all dead: - Romeo is banished, There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word's death; no words can that woe sound. Where is my father, and my mother, nurse?

Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corses Will you go to them? I will bring you thither. Jul. Wash they his wounds with tears? mine shall

be spent,

When theirs are dry, for Romeo's banishment. Take up those cords: - Poor ropes, you are beguil'd. Both you and I; for Romeo is exil'd.

Nurse. Hie to your chamber: I'll find Romeo To comfort you : — I wot 3 well where he is. Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night; I'll to him; he is hid at Laurence' cell. Jul. O find him! give this ring to my true knight, And bid him come to take his last farewell.

[Exeunt. SCENE III. Friar Laurence's Cell.

Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished: Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.

Rom. There is no world without Verona walls, Hence-banished is banish'd from the world, And world's exíle is death : - then banishment Is death mis-term'd: calling death - banishment, Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe, And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me.

Fri. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince, Taking thy part, hath rush'd aside the law, And turn'd that black word death to banishment: This is dear mercy, and thou seest it not.

Rom. 'Tis torture, and not mercy: heaven is here, Where Juliet lives; and every cat, and dog, And little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven, and may look on her, But Romeo may not. - More validity 4, More honourable state, more courtship lives In carrion flies, than Romeo: they may seize On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand, And steal immortal blessing from her lips; Who, even in pure and vestal modesty, Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin; But Romeo may not; he is banished : Flies may do this, when I from this must fly; They are free men, but I am banished. And say'st thou yet, that exile is not death? Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, But, banished — to kill me; banished?

O cruel friar, how hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly cónfessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
To mangle me with that word— banishment?

Fri. Thou fond mad man, hear me but speak a word.

Rom. O, thou wilt speak again of banishment. Fri. I'll give thee armour to keep off that word; Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished. Rom. Yet banished? Hang up philosophy! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom; It helps not, it prevails not, talk no more. Fri. O, then I see that madmen have no ears. Rom. How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?

Fri. Let me dispute with thee of thy estate. Rom. Thou canst not speak of what thou dost not feel:

Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,
An hour but married, Tybalt murdered,
Doting like me, and like me banished,

Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair,

And fall upon the ground as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.

Fri. Arise; one knocks; good Romeo, hide
thyself.
[Knocking within.
Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick
groans,

Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.

[Knocking. Fri. Hark, how they knock ! - Who's there?Romeo, arise:

And now falls on her bed; and then starts up, And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, And then down falls again.

Rom.

As if that name,
Shot from the deadly level of a gun,
Did murder her; as that name's cursed hand
Murder'd her kinsman. - O tell me, friar, tell me,
In what vile part of this anatomy

Doth my name lodge? tell me, that I may sack
The hateful mansion.
[Drawing his Sword
Fri.
Hold thy desperate hand:
Art thou a man? thy form cries out, thou art;
Thy tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote
The unreasonable fury of a beast:
Unseemly woman, in a seeming man!
Or ill-beseeming beast, in seeming both!
Thou hast amaz'd me: by my holy order,
I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
And slay thy lady too that lives in thee,
By doing violence upon thyself?
Why rail'st thou on thy birth, the heaven, and earth?
Since birth, and heaven, and earth, all three do meet
In thee at once; which thou at once wouldst lose.
Fye, fye! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy wit;
Which, like an usurer, abound'st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy wit.
Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,
Digressing from the valour of a man:
Thy dear love, sworn, but hollow perjury,
Killing that love which thou hast vow'd to cherish;
Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love,
Mis-shapen in the conduct of them both,
Like powder in a skill-less soldier's flask,
Is set on fire by thine own ignorance,

And thou dismember'd with thine own defence.
What, rouse thee, man! thy Juliet is alive,
For whose dear sake thou wast but lately dead;
There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee,
But thou slew'st Tybalt; there art thou happy too:
The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy friend,
And turns it to exile; there art thou happy:
A pack of blessings lights upon thy back:
Happiness courts thee in her best array;
But, like a mis-behav'd and sullen wench,
Thou pout'st upon thy fortune and thy love:
Take heed, take heed, for such die miserable.
Go, get thee to thy love, as was decreed,
Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her;
But, look, thou stay not till the watch be set,
For then thou canst not pass to Mantua ;
Where thou shalt live, till we can find a time
To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends,
Beg pardon of the prince, and call thee back
With twenty hundred thousand times more joy
Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.
Go before, nurse: commend me to thy lady;
And bid her hasten all the house to bed,
Which heavy sorrow makes them apt unto:
Romeo is coming.

Nurse. I could have staid all night,
To hear good counsel: O, what learning is!
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide. Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir: Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.

[Exit Nurse. Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this! Fri. Go hence: Good night: and here stands all your state 5;

Either be gone before the watch be set,

Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence :
Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man,
And he shall signify from time to time
Every good hap to you, that chances here:
Give me thy hand; 'tis late; farewell; good night.
Rom. But that a joy past joy calls out on me,
It were a grief, so brief to part with thee:
Farewell.

SCENE IV.

A Room in Capulet's House.

[Exeunt.

! I would have been a-bed an hour ago.

Par. These times of woe afford no time to woo; Madam, good night; commend me to your daughter. La. Cap. will, and know her mind early to

morrow;

To-night she's mew'd 6 up to her heaviness.

Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate 7 tender
Of my child's love: I think, she will be rul'd
In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not.
Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;
Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next —
But soft: What day is this?

The whole of your fortune depends on this.
Bold.
s Shut up.

O' Thursday let it be ;-o' Thursday, tell her,
She shall be married to this noble earl: —
Will you be ready? do you like this haste?
We'll keep no great ado; - a friend, or two:
For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought we held him carelessly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel much :
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,
And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?
Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were to-

Jul. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree : Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

Rom. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops; I must be gone and live, or stay and die.

Jul. Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales, To be to thee this night a torch-bearer, Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone. And light thee on thy way to Mantua:

Rom. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow! 9 Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care 9 to stay, than will to go; Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so. How is't my soul? let's talk, it is not day.

Jul. It is, it is, hie hence, be gone, away; It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps. Some say, the lark makes sweet division'; This doth not so, for she divideth us: 0, now I would they had changed voices too; Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes; O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. Rom. More light and light? -more dark and dark our woes.

1 Division was the technical phrase for musical composition.