In name of lendings, for your highness' soldiers; Fetch from false Mowbray their first head and spring. Upon his bad life, to make all this good,— That he did plot the Duke of Gloster's death; And, consequently, like a traitor coward, Sluic'd out his innocent soul through streams of blood: K. Rich. How high a pitch his resolution soars ! Till I have told this slander of his blood, K. Rich. Mowbray, impartial are our eyes and ears, Nor. Then, Bolingbroke, as low as to thy heart, Upon remainder of a dear account, Since last I went to France to fetch his queen: Once I did lay an ambush for your life, Even in the best blood chambered in his bosom : Your highness to assign our trial day. K. Rich. Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me; Gaunt. When, Harry, when? Obedience bids, I should not bid again. K. Rich. Norfolk, throw down, we bid; there is no boot. Nor. Myself I throw, dread sovereign, at thy foot: My life thou shalt command, but not my shame; The one my duty owes; but my fair name, I am disgraced, impeached, and baffled here; K. Rich. Rage must be withstood: Give me his gage:-Lions make leopards tame. Nor. Yea, but not change his spots : take but my shame, And I resign my gage. My dear dear lord, The purest treasure mortal times afford Is spotless reputation; that away, In that I live, and for that I will die. in one; K. Rich. Cousin, throw down your gage; do you begin. Boling. O, heaven defend my soul from such foul sin! Shall I seem crest-fallen in my father's sight? Or with pale beggar fear impeach my height, Before this outdared dastard? Ere my tongue Shall wound mine honour with such feeble wrong, Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear The slavish motive of recanting fear; And spit it bleeding, in his high disgrace, Where shame doth harbour, even in Mowbray's face. Lord Marshal, command our officers at arms, SHAKESPERE. Ben. I pray ROMEO AND JULIET. Enter MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO. 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. Ben. Am I like such a fellow? 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 than 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 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. Tyb. You will find me apt enough to that, sir, an 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 is that shail make you dance. Zounds, consort! [Laying his hand on his sword. Ben. 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. 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 the field, he'll be your follower; Your worship in that sense may call him man. Tyb. Romeo, the hate I bear thee, can afford Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk ? [Draws. |