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Here comes the lady:—O, so light a foot
ACT III. SCENE I.
A publick Place. Enter Mercurio, BeN volio, 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, God 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.
Ben. Am I like such a fellow 2
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 because 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 full of meat; and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg, for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrell'd with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath waken'd 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 TY BALT, 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 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, consort' . Ben. We talk here in the publick haunt of men: Either withdraw into some private place,
Or reason coldly of your grievances,
Enter Rom Eo.
Tyb. Well, peace be with you, sir! here comes my man. Mer. But I'll be hang'd, 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 To such a greeting:—Villain am I none; 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 carries it away.— [Draws. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?
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. 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. [Ereunt Tybalt and his partizans. 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. [Erit 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 pepper'd, I warrant, for this world:—A plague o'both your houses!—"Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse,