A public Place.
[Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, Page, and Servants.]
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.
Mercutio. Thou art like one of these 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.
Am I like such a fellow?
MERCUTIO.
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.
BENVOLIO.
And what to?
MERCUTIO.
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 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 an old riband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling!
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.
MERCUTIO.
The fee simple! O simple!
BENVOLIO.
By my head, here come the Capulets.
MERCUTIO.
By my heel, I care not.
[Enter Tybalt and others.]
TYBALT.
Follow me close, for I will speak to them.—Gentlemen, good-den: a word with one of you.
MERCUTIO.
And but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it a word and a blow.
TYBALT.
You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you will give me occasion.
MERCUTIO.
Could you not take some occasion without giving?
TYBALT.
Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo,—
MERCUTIO.
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!
BENVOLIO.
We talk here in the public haunt of men:
Either withdraw unto some private place,
And reason coldly of your grievances,
Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.
MERCUTIO.
Men’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze;
I will not budge for no man’s pleasure, I.
TYBALT.
Well, peace be with you, sir.—Here comes my man.
[Enter Romeo.]
MERCUTIO.
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.
Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford
No better term than this,—Thou art a villain.
ROMEO.
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.
TYBALT.
Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw.
ROMEO.
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.
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,