Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir. Gre. Do you quarrel, sir? Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you: I serve as Gre. Say-better: here comes one of my master's kinsmen. Benvolio. Part, fools! put up your swords; you know not what you do. [Beats down their swords. Enter TYBALT. Tybalt. 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! drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word As I hate Hell, all Montagues, and thee. Have at thee, coward. [They fight. Enter several persons of both Houses, who join the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs and partisans. 1 Citizen. Clubs, bills, and partisans ! strike! beat them down! Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues! Enter CAPULET, in his gown; and Lady CAPulet. Capulet. What noise is this? sword, ho! Give me my long Lady Capulet. 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. Montague. Thou villain Capulet! - Hold me not; let me go. Lady Montague. Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. Enter Prince, with his train. Prince. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel, Will they not hear? what ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate. You, Capulet, shall go along with me; [Exeunt Prince and Attendants; CAPULET, Lady CAPULET, TYBALT, Citizens, and Ser vants. Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach. I drew to part them: in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd; Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He swung about his head, and cut the winds, Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn. While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part. La. Mon. O, where is Romeo? saw you him today? Right glad I am he was not at this fray. Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad; Where, underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from the city's side, So early walking did I see your son. Towards him I made: but he was 'ware of me, And stole into the covert of the wood: I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his, 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, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly give cure as know. Ben. See, where he comes: so please you, step aside; I'll know his grievance, or be much deni'd. Mon. I would thou wert stay, wert so happy by thy [Exeunt MONTAGUE and Lady. To hear true shrift. — Come, Madam, let's away. Enter ROMEO. Ben. Good morrow, cousin. Is the day so young? Ah me! sad hours seem long. Ben. But new struck nine. 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. Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof! Rom. Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still, Should without eyes see pathways to his will: Where shall we dine?-0 me! - What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. 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! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh? Ben. No, coz; I rather weep. At thy good heart's oppression. Rom. Good heart, at what? Ben. Rom. Why, such is love's transgression. |