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Jul. Good even to my ghostly confessor.
Rom. Ah, Juliet, if the meafure of thy joy
Jul. Conceit, more rich in matter than in words,
Fri. Come, come with me, and we will make short work;
Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOL10, Page, and Servants.
Ben. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire ;
these 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 fword upon the table, and says, God send me no need of thee! and, by the operation of the second cup, draws it on the drawer, when, indeed, there is no need.
Ben. Am I like such a fellow ?
Mier. Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as soon moved to be inoody, and as soon moody to be moved.
Ben. And what to?
Mer. Nay, an there were two fuch, we should have none Tortly, 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 reason but because thou hast hazel 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 quarrell'd with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath waken'd thy dog that hath lain alleep in the sun. Didit thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his
new doublet before Easter ? with another, for tying his new shoes with old ribband? and yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling!
Ben. An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man hould buy the fee-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.
Tyb. Follow me close, for I will speak to them.
Mer. And but one word with one of us ? Couple it with something; make it a word and a blow.
Tyb. You will 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. Confort! what, dost thou make us minstrels ? an thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords : here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort !
Ben. We talk here in the public haunt of men :
Mer. Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze; I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.
Tyb. Well, peace be with you, fir! here comes my man. Mer. But I'll be hang’d, fir, if he wear your livery:
Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower ;
Tyb. Romeo, the hate I bear 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 calın, dishonourable, vile submission! A la stoccala carries it away:
[Draws. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will
walk ? Tyb. What would'st thou have with me? Mer. Good king of cats, nothing, but one of your nine
that I mean to make bold withal, and, as you shall ufe 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, fir, your passado.
[They fight. Rom. Draw, Benvolio; Beat down their weapons :-Gentlemen, for shame Forbear this outrage ;-Tybalt-Mercution The prince expressly hath forbid this bandying In Verona streets :-hold, Tybalt;—good Mercutio.
[Exeunt TYBALT and his Partizans. Mer. I am hurt;
I am pepo
A plague o' both the houses !-I am sped :-
What, art thou hurt ? Mer. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch ; marry, 'tis enough.. Where is my page ?-go, villain, fetch a surgeon.
[Exit Page. 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, 'twill serve : ask for me to. morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. per'd, I warrant, for this world :--A plague o' both your houses !—Zounds, 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 some house, Benvolio,
[Exeunt Mercurio‘and BENVOLIO.
Ben. O. Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead;