GRE. No. SAM. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir. GRE. Do you quarrel, sir? ABR. Quarrel, sir? no, sir. SAM. If you do, sir, I am for you; I serve as good a man as you. ABR. No better. SAM. Well, sir. Enter BENVOLIO, at a distance. GRE. Say-better; here comes one of my master's kins men. SAM. Yes, better. ABR. You lie. SAM. Draw, if you be men.-Gregory, remember thy swashing blow. [They fight. BEN. Part, fools; put up your swords; you know not what you do. [Beats down their swords. Enter TYBALT. TYB. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. BEN. I do but keep the peace; put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. TYB. What, draw, and talk of peace? I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: [They fight. Enter several partisans of both houses, who join the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs. 1 CIT. Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! Enter CAPULET, in his gown; and LADY CAPULET. CAP. What noise is this?-Give me my long sword, ho! LA. CAP. A crutch, a crutch!—Why call you for a sword? CAP. My sword, I say!-Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE. MON. Thou villain Capulet,-Hold me not, let me go. Enter PRINCE, with Attendants. PRIN. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets; To old Free-town, our common judgment-place. [Exeunt PRINCE and Attendants; CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, TYBALT, Citizens, and Servants. MON. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach ?- While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, LA. MON. O, where is Romeo?-saw you him to-day? Right glad am I, he was not at this fray. BEN. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me, I, measuring his affections by my own,— And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. MON. Many a morning hath he there been seen, Black and portentous must this humour prove, BEN. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? So far from sounding and discovery, Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, Enter ROMEO, at a distance. BEN. See, where he comes: So please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much denied. MON. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay, To hear true shrift.-Come, madam, let's away. BEN. Good morrow, cousin. BEN. But new struck nine. [Exeunt MONTAGUE and Lady.. Is the day so young? Ah me! sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast? BEN. It was:-What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? ROM. Not having that, which, having, makes them short. BEN. In love? ROM. Out BEN. Of love? ROM. Out of her favour, where I am in love. ROM. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Here 's much to do with hate, but more with love:- O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh? BEN. No, coz, I rather weep. ROM. Good heart, at what? At thy good heart's oppressicr ROM. Why, such is love's transgression.— Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast; Which thou wilt propagate, to have it press'd With more of thine: this love, that thou hast shown, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. BEN. ROM. Tut, I have lost myself; I am not here; But sadly tell me, who. [Going. Groan? why, no; ROM. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will:Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill!— In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. BEN. I aim'd so near, when I suppos'd you lov'd. ROM. A right good marksman! And she 's fair I love. BEN. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit. ROM. Well, in that hit, you miss: she 'll not be hit With Cupid's arrow, she hath Dian's wit; And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd, From love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd. That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. BEN. Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste? ROM. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; For beauty, starv'd with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair: She hath forsworn to love; and, in that vow, Do I live dead, that live to tell it now. |