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yeah
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 him on the drawer, when indeed there is no need.
Benvolio : 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.
Come, come, thou art as hot a jack in thy mood asany in Italy; and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.
Benvolio: Am I like such a fellow?
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 quarreling. Thou hast quarreled 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 ribbon? And yet thou wilt tutor me from quarreling!
Benvolio: And what to?
The fee-simple! O simple!
Benvolio: 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.
By my heel, I care not.
Benvolio: By my head, here come the Capulets.
And but one word with one of us? Couple it with
something; make it a word and a blow.
Tybalt: Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good e’en. A word with one of you.
Could you not take some occasion without
giving?
Tybalt: You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an
you will give me occasion.
Consort! What, dost thou make us minstrels? An thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords. [Pointing to his sword] Here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. Zounds, 'consort'!
Tybalt: Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo, —
Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze;
I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.
Benvolio: We talk here in the public haunt
of men. Either withdraw unto some private place, Or reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart. Here all eyes gaze on us.
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.'
Tybalt: Well, peace be with you, sir. Here comes my man
Alright
After some lines, Romeo finally says something
O calm, dishonorable, vile submission!
Alla stoccado carries it away. Tybalt,
you rat-catcher, will you walk?
Romeo: 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 mine own — be satisfied.
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.
Tybalt: What wouldst thou have with me?
Mercutio: Come, sir, your passado.
Romeo: Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
I am hurt.
A plague o' both your houses! I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing?
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!
Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough.
Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.
Benvolio: What, art thou hurt?
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! [To Romeo] Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm.
Benvolio: Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.
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!
Romeo: I thought all for the best.
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