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Alla stoccata carries it away. Draws. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? 80 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. Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up. Mer. Come, sir, your passado. They fight. Rom. Draw, Benvolio; beat down their

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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! '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! Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm. 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 worms' meat of me: I have it, And soundly too: your houses!

Exeunt MERCUTIO and BENVOLIO. Rom. This gentleman, the prince's near ally, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander, Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my cousin. O sweet Juliet ! Thy beauty hath made me effeminate, And in my temper soften'd valour's steel.

Re-enter BENVOLIO.


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Enter Citizens, etc.

First Cit. Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio?

Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he
Ben. There lies that Tybalt.
First Cit.

Up, sir; go with me;
I charge thee in the prince's name, obey.
their Wives, and Others.

Prince. Where are the vile beginners of this fray?


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. Lady Cap. Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child!

O prince! O cousin! husband! O! the blood is spill'd

Of my dear kinsman. Prince, as thou art true,
For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.
O cousin, cousin!

Prince. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray! Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay:

Romeo, that spoke him fair, bade him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal 10
Your high displeasure all this uttered
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly

Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
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 heats
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
his tongue,


His agile arm beats down their fatal points, And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose


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.


Lady 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.

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The life of Tybalt.


And for that offence

Immediately we do exile him hence:

I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie ableeding;

But I'll amerce 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. 201
Bear hence this body and attend our will:
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.

SCENE II.-The Same. CAPULET'S Orchard.


Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' lodging; such a waggoner As Phaethon would whip you to the west, And bring in cloudy night immediately. Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night! That runaway's eyes may wink, and Romeo Leap to these arms, untalk'd of and unseen! Lovers can see to do their amorous rites By their own beauties; or, if love be blind, It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, 10 Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to lose a winning match, Play'd for a pair of stainless maidenhoods: Hood my unmann'd blood, bating in my cheeks, With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold,

Think true love acted simple modesty.

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


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 sun.
O! I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it, and though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy'd. So tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child that hath new robes
And may not wear them. O! here comes my


Enter Nurse, with cords.


And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks

But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence. Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there! the cords

That Romeo bid thee fetch?

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Jul. Ay me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands?

Nurse. Ah! well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!

We are undone, lady, we are undone!
Alack the day! he's gone, he 's kill'd, he's dead!
Jul. Can heaven be so envious?
Romeo can, 40
Though heaven cannot. O! Romeo, Romeo;
Who ever would have thought it? Romeo!
Jul. What devil art thou that dost torment

me thus ?

This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
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


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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 dearest cousin, and my dearer lord? Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom! For who is living if those two are gone? Romeo, that kill'd him, he is banished. Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;


Jul. O God! 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 flowering 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;
A damned saint, an honourable villain!
O nature! what hadst thou to do in hell
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh ?
Was ever book containing such vile matter
So fairly bound? O! that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace.
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

Shame come to Romeo!
Blister'd be thy tongue 90
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.
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.


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

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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 damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds.
"Tybalt is dead, and Romeo banished!'
That banished,' that one word banished,'
Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death
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


Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both,
Which modern lamentation might have mov'd?
But with a rearward 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

Where is my father and my mother, nurse?
Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's

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Not body's death, but body's banishment.
Rom. Ha! banishment! be merciful, say

For exile hath more terror in his look,
Much more than death: do not say banishment.'
Fri. Hence from Verona art thou banished.
Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
Rom. There is no world without Verona walls,
But purgatory, torture, hell itself.
Hence banished is banish'd from the world,
And world's exile is death; then 'banished' »
Is death mis-term'd. Calling death banished,'
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 banish


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 39
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven and may look on her;
But Romeo may not: more validity,
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, but 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

No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean,
But banished' to kill me? Banished' !
O friar! the damned use that word in hell;
Howlings attend it: how hast thou the heart,
Being a divine, a ghostly confessor,
A sin-absolver, and my friend profess'd,
To mangle me with that word 'banished'?
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 that 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 might'st thou speak, then might'st
tear thy hair,

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I thought thy disposition better temper'd.
Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself?
thou And slay thy lady that in thy life lives,
By doing damned hate upon thyself?


And fall upon the ground, as I do now,
Taking the measure of an unmade grave.
Knocking within.
Fri. Arise; one knocks: good Romeo, hide

Rom. Not I; unless the breath of heart-sick

Mist-like, infold me from the search of eyes.
Fri. Hark! how they knock. Who's there?
Romeo, arise;

Thou wilt be taken. Stay awhile!

Stand up; Knocking. Run to my study. By and by! God's will! What simpleness is this! I come, I come!

Knocking. Who knocks so hard? whence come you? what's your will?

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In thee at once, which thou at once would'st lose.

Fie, fie! thou sham'st thy shape, thy love, thy

Which, like an usurer, abound'st in all,
And usest none in that true use indeed
Which should bedeck thy shape, thy love, thy

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

Thy wit, that ornament to shape and love, 130

Nurse. Within. Let me come in, and you shall Misshapen in the conduct of them both, know my errand :

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Like powder in a skilless soldier's flask,

Is set a 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


The law that threaten'd death becomes thy

And turns it to exile; there art thou happy: 140
A pack of blessings light upon thy back;
Happiness courts thee in her best array ;
But, like a misbehav'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 150
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. O Lord! I could have stay'd here all
the night

To hear good counsel: O! what learning is. 160
My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.

Rom. Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to

Nurse. Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir.

Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late.


Rom. How well my comfort is reviv'd by this!

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Enter CAPULET, Lady CAPULET, and PARIS. Cap. Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily, That we have had no time to move our daughter: Look you, she lov'd her kinsman Tybalt dearly, And so did I well, we were born to die. 'Tis very late, she 'll not come down to-night: I promise you, but for your company, 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.

Lady Cap. I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;

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

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Cap. Sir Paris, I will make a desperate 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 nextBut, soft! what day is this? Par.

Monday, my lord. Cap. Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is

too soon;

O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her, 20
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 Thurs-

Par. My lord, I would that Thursday were

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


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; Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care 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: Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes;


O! now I would they had chang'd voices too, Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt 's-up to the day. O! now be gone; more light and light it

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Rom. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend. Descends.

Jul. Art thou gone so? my lord, my love, my friend!

I must hear from thee every day in the hour,
For in a minute there are many days:
O! by this count I shall be much in years
Ere I again behold my Romeo.

Rom. Farewell!

I will omit no opportunity

That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. so Jul. O think'st thou we shall ever meet again?

Rom. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall


For sweet discourses in our time to come.
Jul. O God! I have an ill-divining soul:
Methinks I see thee, now thou art so low,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb:
Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale.
Rom. And trust me, love, in my eye so do


Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu! adieu ! Exit.

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