Romeo and Juliet Page #4

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villain am I none;

Boy, this shall

not excuse the

injuries That thou

hast done me;

therefore turn and draw.

I do protest, I

never injured thee,

But love thee better

than thou canst

devise, Till thou

shalt know the reason

of my love:
And so,

good Capulet,--which

name I tender As

dearly as my own,

--be satisfied.

O calm, dishonourable,

vile submission!

Alla stoccata

carries it away.

Tybalt, you rat-catcher,

will you walk?

What wouldst

thou have with me?

Good king of cats,

Mercutio!

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, drybeat

the rest of the eight.

Will you pluck your

sword out of his

pitcher by the ears?

make haste, lest mine

be about your ears

ere it be out.

I am for you.

Gentle Mercutio,

put thy rapier up.

Come, sir, your passado.

Draw, Benvolio;

beat down their weapons.

Gentlemen, for shame

Hold, Tybalt!

good Mercutio!

Good Mercutio!

Why the devil

came you between us?

I was hurt

under your arm.

Courage, man; the

hurt cannot be much.

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 on both

your houses!

O Romeo, Romeo,

brave Mercutio's dead!

Away to heaven,

respective lenity,

And fire-eyed fury

be my conduct now!

Now Tybalt, take the

villain back again,

That late thou gavest

me; for Mercutio's

soul Is but a little

way above our heads,

Staying for thine to

keep him company:

Either thou,

or I, or both,

must go with him.

Thou, wretched boy,

that didst consort

him here,

Shalt with him hence.

Romeo, away, be gone!

The citizens are up,

and Tybalt slain.

Stand not amazed: the

prince will doom thee

death, If thou art

taken:
hence, away,

be gone!

O, I am fortune's fool.

Where are the

vile beginners of

this fray?

I can discover all

Tybalt, my cousin!

O my brother's child!

For blood of ours,

shed blood of Montague.

Oh bloody fill

of my dear kin.

Romeo slew Tybalt,

Romeo must not live.

Can heaven

be so envious?

Romeo can, Though

heaven cannot:

O Romeo, Romeo!

Who ever would

have thought it?

Romeo!

Can heaven

be so envious?

Romeo can

Oh God!

did Romeo's hand

shed Tybalt's blood?

It did, it did;

alas the day, it did!

O serpent heart,

hid with a flowering face!

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?

There's no trust,

No faith, no honesty

in men; all perjured,

All forsworn, all

naught, all

dissemblers.

Shame come to Romeo!

Will you speak

well of him that

kill'd your cousin?

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?

Romeo that spoke

him fair, bade him

bethink How nice the

quarrel was, and

urged withal Your

high displeasure: all

this uttered With

gentle breath, calm

look, knees humbly

bow'd, 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, 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 arm

An envious thrust

from Tybalt hit the

life Of stout

Mercutio,

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.

I beg for justice,

which thou, prince,

must give; Romeo slew

Tybalt, Romeo must

not live.

Romeo slew him, he

slew Mercutio; Who

then the price of his

dear blood doth owe?

Not Romeo, prince,

he was Mercutio's

friend; His fault

concludes but what

the law should end,

The life of Tybalt.

Mercy but murders,

pardoning those

that kill.

I bring thee

tidings of the

prince's doom.

A gentler judgment

vanish'd from his

lips, Not body's

death, but body's

banishment.

Banishment!

Ha, banishment!

be merciful, say

'death;' For exile

hath more terror in

his look, Much more

than death:
do not

say 'banishment.'

Hence from Verona

art thou banished:

Be patient, for the

world is broad

and wide.

There is no world

without Verona walls,

But purgatory,

torture, hell itself.

Heaven is here, Where

Juliet lives; and

every cat and dog And

little mouse, every

unworthy thing, Live

here in heaven and

may look on her; But

Romeo may not:
he is

banished:
Hadst thou

no poison mix'd, no

sharp-ground knife,

No sudden mean of

death, though

ne'er so mean,

But 'banished' to kill me?

--'banished'?

Hear me but

speak a word.

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 mightst thou speak,

Juliet's nurse.

Shh, shhh, shh.

Leave us.

I come from

Lady Juliet.

Welcome, then.

O holy friar, O,

tell me, holy friar,

Where is my lady's

lord, where's Romeo?

There on the

ground, with his own

tears made drunk.

O, he is even in

my mistress' case,

Just in her case

Spakest

thou of Juliet?

how is it with her?

Doth she not think me

an old murderer, Now

I have stain'd the

childhood of our joy

With blood removed

but little from

her own?

Where is she?

and how doth she?

and what says My

conceal'd lady to our

cancell'd love?

O, she says

nothing, sir, but

weeps and weeps; And

now falls on her bed;

and then starts up,

And Tybalt calls; and

then on Romeo cries,

And then down

falls again.

Stand up, stand up;

stand, and you be a

man:
For Juliet's

sake, for her sake,

rise and stand; Why

should you fall into

so deep an O?

Art thou a man?

thy form cries out

thou art:
Thy tears

are womanish;

Go, get thee to thy

love, as was decreed,

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 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.

Make haste.

Balthasar.

Thank you my lord.

Romeo!

She's there.

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:
All this is

comfort; wherefore

weep I then?

Wilt thou be gone?

it is not yet near

day:
It was the

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