A public place.

Enter Sampson and Gregory armed with swords and bucklers.rnrnSAMPSON.rnGregory, on my word, we’ll not carry coals.rnrnGREGORY.rnNo, for then we should be colliers.rnrnSAMPSON.rnI mean, if we be in choler, we’ll draw.rnrnGREGORY.rnAy, while you live, draw your neck out o’ the collar.rnrnSAMPSON.rnI strike quickly, being moved.rnrnGREGORY.rnBut thou art not quickly moved to strike.rnrnSAMPSON.rnA dog of the house of Montague moves me.rnrnGREGORY.rnTo move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thournart moved, thou runn’st away.rnrnSAMPSON.rnA dog of that house shall move me to stand.rnI will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague’s.rnrnGREGORY.rnThat shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goes to the wall.rnrnSAMPSON.rnTrue, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust tornthe wall: therefore I will push Montague’s men from the wall, andrnthrust his maids to the wall.rnrnGREGORY.rnThe quarrel is between our masters and us their men.rnrnSAMPSON.’Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with thernmen I will be civil with the maids, I will cut off their heads.rnrnGREGORY.rnThe heads of the maids?rnrnSAMPSON.rnAy, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sensernthou wilt.rnrnGREGORY.rnThey must take it in sense that feel it.rnrnSAMPSON.rnMe they shall feel while I am able to stand: and ’tis known I am arnpretty piece of flesh.rnrnGREGORY.’Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John.rnDraw thy tool; here comes of the house of Montagues.rnrn Enter Abram and Balthasar.rnrnSAMPSON.rnMy naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.rnrnGREGORY.rnHow? Turn thy back and run?rnrnSAMPSON.rnFear me not.rnrnGREGORY.rnNo, marry; I fear thee!rnrnSAMPSON.rnLet us take the law of our sides; let them begin.rnrnGREGORY.rnI will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.rnrnSAMPSON.rnNay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is disgrace tornthem if they bear it.rnrnABRAM.rnDo you bite your thumb at us, sir?rnrnSAMPSON.rnI do bite my thumb, sir.rnrnABRAM.rnDo you bite your thumb at us, sir?rnrnSAMPSON.rnIs the law of our side if I say ay?rnrnGREGORY.rnNo.rnrnSAMPSON.rnNo sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.rnrnGREGORY.rnDo you quarrel, sir?rnrnABRAM.rnQuarrel, sir? No, sir.rnrnSAMPSON.rnBut if you do, sir, I am for you. I serve as good a man as you.rnrnABRAM.rnNo better.rnrnSAMPSON.rnWell, sir.rnrn Enter Benvolio.rnrnGREGORY.rnSay better; here comes one of my master’s kinsmen.rnrnSAMPSON.rnYes, better, sir.rnrnABRAM.rnYou lie.rnrnSAMPSON.rnDraw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow.rnrn [_They fight._]rnrnBENVOLIO.rnPart, fools! put up your swords, you know not what you do.rnrn [_Beats down their swords._]rnrn Enter Tybalt.rnrnTYBALT.rnWhat, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?rnTurn thee Benvolio, look upon thy death.rnrnBENVOLIO.rnI do but keep the peace, put up thy sword,rnOr manage it to part these men with me.rnrnTYBALT.rnWhat, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the wordrnAs I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:rnHave at thee, coward.rnrn [_They fight._]rnrn Enter three or four Citizens with clubs.rnrnFIRST CITIZEN.rnClubs, bills and partisans! Strike! Beat them down!rnDown with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!rnrn Enter Capulet in his gown, and Lady Capulet.rnrnCAPULET.rnWhat noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!rnrnLADY CAPULET.rnA crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?rnrnCAPULET.rnMy sword, I say! Old Montague is come,rnAnd flourishes his blade in spite of me.rnrn Enter Montague and his Lady Montague.rnrnMONTAGUE.rnThou villain Capulet! Hold me not, let me go.rnrnLADY MONTAGUE.rnThou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.rnrn Enter Prince Escalus, with Attendants.rnrnPRINCE.rnRebellious subjects, enemies to peace,rnProfaners of this neighbour-stained steel,—rnWill they not hear? What, ho! You men, you beasts,rnThat quench the fire of your pernicious ragernWith purple fountains issuing from your veins,rnOn pain of torture, from those bloody handsrnThrow your mistemper’d weapons to the groundrnAnd hear the sentence of your moved prince.rnThree civil brawls, bred of an airy word,rnBy thee, old Capulet, and Montague,rnHave thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets,rnAnd made Verona’s ancient citizensrnCast by their grave beseeming ornaments,rnTo wield old partisans, in hands as old,rnCanker’d with peace, to part your canker’d hate.rnIf ever you disturb our streets again,rnYour lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.rnFor this time all the rest depart away:rnYou, Capulet, shall go along with me,rnAnd Montague, come you this afternoon,rnTo know our farther pleasure in this case,rnTo old Free-town, our common judgement-place.rnOnce more, on pain of death, all men depart.rnrn [_Exeunt Prince and Attendants; Capulet, Lady Capulet, Tybalt, Citizens and Servants._]rnrnMONTAGUE.rnWho set this ancient quarrel new abroach?rnSpeak, nephew, were you by when it began?rnrnBENVOLIO.rnHere were the servants of your adversaryrnAnd yours, close fighting ere I did approach.rnI drew to part them, in the instant camernThe fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar’d,rnWhich, as he breath’d defiance to my ears,rnHe swung about his head, and cut the winds,rnWho nothing hurt withal, hiss’d him in scorn.rnWhile we were interchanging thrusts and blowsrnCame more and more, and fought on part and part,rnTill the Prince came, who parted either part.rnrnLADY MONTAGUE.rnO where is Romeo, saw you him today?rnRight glad I am he was not at this fray.rnrnBENVOLIO.rnMadam, an hour before the worshipp’d sunrnPeer’d forth the golden window of the east,rnA troubled mind drave me to walk abroad,rnWhere underneath the grove of sycamorernThat westward rooteth from this city side,rnSo early walking did I see your son.rnTowards him I made, but he was ware of me,rnAnd stole into the covert of the wood.rnI, measuring his affections by my own,rnWhich then most sought where most might not be found,rnBeing one too many by my weary self,rnPursu’d my humour, not pursuing his,rnAnd gladly shunn’d who gladly fled from me.rnrnMONTAGUE.rnMany a morning hath he there been seen,rnWith tears augmenting the fresh morning’s dew,rnAdding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;rnBut all so soon as the all-cheering sunrnShould in the farthest east begin to drawrnThe shady curtains from Aurora’s bed,rnAway from light steals home my heavy son,rnAnd private in his chamber pens himself,rnShuts up his windows, locks fair daylight outrnAnd makes himself an artificial night.rnBlack and portentous must this humour prove,rnUnless good counsel may the cause remove.rnrnBENVOLIO.rnMy noble uncle, do you know the cause?rnrnMONTAGUE.rnI neither know it nor can learn of him.rnrnBENVOLIO.rnHave you importun’d him by any means?rnrnMONTAGUE.rnBoth by myself and many other friends;rnBut he, his own affections’ counsellor,rnIs to himself—I will not say how true—rnBut to himself so secret and so close,rnSo far from sounding and discovery,rnAs is the bud bit with an envious wormrnEre he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,rnOr dedicate his beauty to the sun.rnCould we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,rnWe would as willingly give cure as know.rnrn Enter Romeo.rnrnBENVOLIO.rnSee, where he comes. So please you step aside;rnI’ll know his grievance or be much denied.rnrnMONTAGUE.rnI would thou wert so happy by thy stayrnTo hear true shrift. Come, madam, let’s away,rnrn [_Exeunt Montague and Lady Montague._]rnrnBENVOLIO.rnGood morrow, cousin.rnrnROMEO.rnIs the day so young?rnrnBENVOLIO.rnBut new struck nine.rnrnROMEO.rnAy me, sad hours seem long.rnWas that my father that went hence so fast?rnrnBENVOLIO.rnIt was. What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?rnrnROMEO.rnNot having that which, having, makes them short.rnrnBENVOLIO.rnIn love?rnrnROMEO.rnOut.rnrnBENVOLIO.rnOf love?rnrnROMEO.rnOut of her favour where I am in love.rnrnBENVOLIO.rnAlas that love so gentle in his view,rnShould be so tyrannous and rough in proof.rnrnROMEO.rnAlas that love, whose view is muffled still,rnShould, without eyes, see pathways to his will!rnWhere shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?rnYet tell me not, for I have heard it all.rnHere’s much to do with hate, but more with love:rnWhy, then, O brawling love! O loving hate!rnO anything, of nothing first create!rnO heavy lightness! serious vanity!rnMisshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!rnFeather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!rnStill-waking sleep, that is not what it is!rnThis love feel I, that feel no love in this.rnDost thou not laugh?rnrnBENVOLIO.rnNo coz, I rather weep.rnrnROMEO.rnGood heart, at what?rnrnBENVOLIO.rnAt thy good heart’s oppression.rnrnROMEO.rnWhy such is love’s transgression.rnGriefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,rnWhich thou wilt propagate to have it prestrnWith more of thine. This love that thou hast shownrnDoth add more grief to too much of mine own.rnLove is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;rnBeing purg’d, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes;rnBeing vex’d, a sea nourish’d with lovers’ tears:rnWhat is it else? A madness most discreet,rnA choking gall, and a preserving sweet.rnFarewell, my coz.rnrn [_Going._]rnrnBENVOLIO.rnSoft! I will go along:rnAnd if you leave me so, you do me wrong.rnrnROMEO.rnTut! I have lost myself; I am not here.rnThis is not Romeo, he’s some other where.rnrnBENVOLIO.rnTell me in sadness who is that you love?rnrnROMEO.rnWhat, shall I groan and tell thee?rnrnBENVOLIO.rnGroan! Why, no; but sadly tell me who.rnrnROMEO.rnBid a sick man in sadness make his will,rnA word ill urg’d to one that is so ill.rnIn sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.rnrnBENVOLIO.rnI aim’d so near when I suppos’d you lov’d.rnrnROMEO.rnA right good markman, and she’s fair I love.rnrnBENVOLIO.rnA right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.rnrnROMEO.rnWell, in that hit you miss: she’ll not be hitrnWith Cupid’s arrow, she hath Dian’s wit;rnAnd in strong proof of chastity well arm’d,rnFrom love’s weak childish bow she lives uncharm’d.rnShe will not stay the siege of loving termsrnNor bide th’encounter of assailing eyes,rnNor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:rnO she’s rich in beauty, only poorrnThat when she dies, with beauty dies her store.rnrnBENVOLIO.rnThen she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?rnrnROMEO.rnShe hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste;rnFor beauty starv’d with her severity,rnCuts beauty off from all posterity.rnShe is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair,rnTo merit bliss by making me despair.rnShe hath forsworn to love, and in that vowrnDo I live dead, that live to tell it now.rnrnBENVOLIO.rnBe rul’d by me, forget to think of her.rnrnROMEO.rnO teach me how I should forget to think.rnrnBENVOLIO.rnBy giving liberty unto thine eyes;rnExamine other beauties.rnrnROMEO.’Tis the wayrnTo call hers, exquisite, in question more.rnThese happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows,rnBeing black, puts us in mind they hide the fair;rnHe that is strucken blind cannot forgetrnThe precious treasure of his eyesight lost.rnShow me a mistress that is passing fair,rnWhat doth her beauty serve but as a noternWhere I may read who pass’d that passing fair?rnFarewell, thou canst not teach me to forget.rnrnBENVOLIO.rnI’ll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.rnrn [_Exeunt._]