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The Street, in Verona.


Sam. Gregory, I strike quickly, being moved. Greg. But thou art not quickly moved to strike. Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves me. Greg. Draw thy tool, then, for here come of that house.

Enter ABRAM and PETER.

Sam. My naked weapon is out: Quarrel, I wil back thee, but- -Let us take the law of our sides let them begin.

Greg. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at
them, which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sam. Is the law on our side, if I say, ay?

Greg. No.

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.

Greg. 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, sir.

Sam. Well, sir.


Greg. Say, better: here comes one of my master's kinsmen.

Sam. Yes, better, sir.

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.


Tib. 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.

Tib. What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the


As I hate hell, all Montagues and thee:

Have at thee, coward.

[They fight.

[Bell rings.

[Within.] Down with the Capulets, down with the


Enter OLD CAPULET, in his Gown.

Cap. What noise is this? give me my sword;

My sword, I say; old Montague is come,

And flourishes his blade in spite of me.


Mont. Thou villain, Capulet-Hold me not, let

me go.


Prince. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of your neighbour-stained steel-
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mis-temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved Prince.
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets :
If ever you affright our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the rest depart away.
You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

[Exeunt all but MONTAGUE and BENVOLIO. Mon. O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? Right glad am I he was not at this fray.

Ben. My lord, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd through the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drew me to walk abroad: Where, underneath the grove of sycamore, That westward rooteth from the city side, So early walking did I see your son; Tow'rds him I made, but he was 'ware of me, And stole into the covert of a wood.. I, measuring his affections by my own, (That most are busied when they're most alone,) Pursued my humour, not pursuing him, And gladly shunn'd, who gladly fled from me. Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew;

Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him. Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means? Mon. Both by myself, and many other friends. Ben. So please you, sir, Mercutio and myself Are most near to him;

We will attempt upon his privacy,

And, could we learn from whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly give cure as knowledge.

Mon. "Twill bind us to you: good Benvolio, go. Ben. We'll know his grievance, or be much denied. [Exeunt.


Before CAPULET's House.


Cap. And Montague is bound, as well as I,
In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard
For men so old as we to keep the peace.

Par. Of honourable reck'ning are you both,
And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds so long:
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?
Cap. But saying o'er what I have said before,
My child is yet a stranger in the world,
She hath not seen the change of eighteen years:
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a wife.

Par. Younger than she are happy mothers made.
Cap. And too soon marr'd are those so early made.
The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but her.
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart;
If she agree, within her scope of choice


Lies my consent; so woo her, gentle Paris.
This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a friend,
Such as I love, and you among the rest;
Once more, most welcome!

Come, go with me.



A Wood, near Verona.


Mer. See, where he steals-Told I you not, Benvolio,

That we should find this melancholy Cupid

Lock'd in some gloomy covert, under key
Of cautionary silence; with his arms

Threaded, like these cross boughs, in sorrow's knot?
Enter ROMEO.

Ben. Good morrow, cousin.

Rom. Is the day so young?

Ben. But new struck nine.

Rom. Ah me! sad hours seem long.

Mer. Pr'ythee, what sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?

Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them short.

Ben. In love, me seems!

Alas! that love, so gentle to the view,

Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Rom. Where shall we dine?-O me!-Cousin Benvolio,

What was the fray this morning with the Capulets? Yet, tell me not, for I have heard it all.

Here's much to do with hate, but more with love:


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