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Rom. Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can,
Fri. These violent delights have violent ends,
Jul. Good-even to my ghostly Confeffor.
Rom. Ah! Juliet, if the measure of thy joy
Jul. Conceit more rich in matter than in words,
Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short
A CT III.
Enter Mercutio, Benvolio, and Servants.
The day is hot, the Gapulets abroad,
And if;we meet, we shall not: 'scape a brawl ; For now thele 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 lays, God send me no need of thee! and by the operation of a 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 moy'd to be moody, and as foon moody to be mov'd.
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 reafon, but because thou hast hafel 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 quarrelld with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun.
Didft thou not fall out with a taylor for wearing his new doublet before Easter with another, for tying his new shoes with old ribband? and yet thou wilt tutor me for quarrelling!
Ben, If I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the feç-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. Gentlemen, good-den, a word with one of you.
Mer. And but one word with one of us? couple it with something, make it a word and a blow.
Tyb. You shall find me apt enough to that, Sir, if you will give me occasion.
Mer. Could you not take some occasion without giving? Tyb. Mercutio, thou confort'st with Romeo
Mer. Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels ? if thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but difcords: here's my fiddlesticks here's that shall make you dance. Zounds! confort!
[Laying his hand on bis sword. Ben. We talk here in the publick haunt of men: Either withdraw unto fome private place, Or reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart;' here all eyes gaze on us.
Mer. Mens 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 hang'd, Sir, if he wear your livery : Marry go first to field, he'll be your follower, Your Worship in that senfe may call him man.
Tyb. Romeo, the love I bare thee can afford
Rom. Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
Tyb. Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
Rom. I do protest I never injur'd thee,
Mer. O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!
Tyb. What wouldst 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.
[Mercutio and Tybalt fight. Rom. Draw, Benvolio beat down their wea
Mer. I am hurt
Ben. (a) See the note p. 260. 8 Alla slucasho old edit. Theob, emenda 9 will you walk ?
I am pep
Ben. What, art chou hurt?
Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch ; marry 'tis enough. Where is my page? go, villain, fetch a surgeon.
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, 'cwill serve : ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man. per’d, I warrant, for this world : a plague of both your houses! What? 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 arithmetick? why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm.
Rom. I thought all for the best.
Mer. Help me into fome house, Benvolio,
[Exe. Mer. Ben.
Rom. This day's black fate on more days does depend; This but begins the woe, others must end.