LITMIR.BIZ

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If thou art taken. Hence, be gone, away!

       Romeo.

       O, I am fortune’s fool!

       Benvolio.

       Why dost thou stay?

       [Exit Romeo.]

       [Enter Citizens, &c.]

       1 Citizen.

       Which way ran he that kill’d Mercutio?

       Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?

       Benvolio.

       There lies that Tybalt.

       1 Citizen. Up, sir, go with me; I charge thee in the prince’s name obey.

       [Enter Prince, attended; Montague, Capulet, their Wives, and others.]

       Prince.

       Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

       Benvolio.

       O noble prince. I can discover all

       The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl:

       There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,

       That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.

       Lady Capulet.

       Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother’s child!—

       O prince!—O husband!—O, the blood is spill’d

       Of my dear kinsman!—Prince, as thou art true,

       For blood of ours shed blood of Montague.—

       O cousin, cousin!

       Prince.

       Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?

       Benvolio.

       Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo’s hand did slay;

       Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink

       How nice the quarrel was, and urg’d 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,

       And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats

       Cold death aside, and with the other sends

       It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity

       Retorts it: 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, and then Tybalt fled:

       But by-and-by comes back to Romeo,

       Who had but newly entertain’d revenge,

       And to’t they go like lightning; for, ere I

       Could draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain;

       And as he fell did Romeo turn and fly.

       This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.

       Lady Capulet.

       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.

       Prince.

       Romeo slew him; he slew Mercutio:

       Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?

       Montague.

       Not Romeo, prince; he was Mercutio’s friend;

       His fault concludes but what the law should end,

       The life of Tybalt.

       Prince.

       And for that offence

       Immediately we do exile him hence:

       I have an interest in your hate’s proceeding,

       My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding;

       But I’ll amerce you with so strong a fine

       That you shall all repent the loss of mine:

       I will be deaf to pleading and excuses;

       Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses,

       Therefore use none: let Romeo hence in haste,

       Else, when he is found, that hour is his last.

       Bear hence this body, and attend our will:

       Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.

       [Exeunt.]

       SCENE II. A Room in Capulet’s House.

       [Enter Juliet.]

       Juliet.

       Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,

       Towards Phoebus’ lodging; such a waggoner

       As Phaeton would whip you to the west

       And bring in cloudy night immediately.—

       Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night!

       That rude eyes may wink, and Romeo

       Leap to these arms, untalk’d of and unseen.—

       Lovers can see to do their amorous rites

       By their own beauties: or, if love be blind,

       It best agrees with night.—Come, civil night,

       Thou sober-suited matron, all in black,

       And learn me how to lose a winning match,

       Play’d for a pair of stainless maidenhoods:

       Hood my unmann’d blood, bating in my cheeks,

       With thy black mantle; till strange love, grown bold,

       Think true love acted simple modesty.

       Come, night;—come, Romeo;—come, thou day in night;

       For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night

       Whiter than new snow upon a raven’s back.—

       Come, gentle night;—come, loving, black-brow’d night,

       Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,

       Take him and cut him out in little stars,

       And he will make the face of heaven so fine

       That all the world will be in love with night,

       And pay no worship to the garish sun.—

       O, I have bought the mansion of a love,

       But not possess’d it; and, though I am sold,

       Not yet enjoy’d: so tedious is this day

       As is the night before some festival

       To an impatient child that hath new robes,

       And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,

       And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks

       But Romeo’s name speaks heavenly eloquence.—

       [Enter Nurse, with cords.]

       Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords

       That Romeo bid thee fetch?

      

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