Scene I.
Verona. A Public Place.
Enter Sampson and Gregory, of the house of Capulet,
with swords and bucklers
Sampson. Gregory, on my word, we'll not [carry coals.]
Gregory. No, for then we should be [colliers.]
Sampson. I mean, an we be in [choler] we'll draw.
Gregory. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out
o' the collar.
Sampson. I strike quickly, being moved.
Gregory. But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
Sampson. A dog of the house of Montague moves
me. 10
Gregory. To move is to stir, and to be valiant is
to stand; therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st
away.
Sampson. A dog of that house shall move me to
stand; I will [take the wall] of any man or maid of
Montague's.
Gregory. That shows thee a weak slave; for [the
weakest goes to the wall.]
Sampson. True; and therefore women, being the
weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall. Therefore 20
I will push Montague's men from the wall, and
thrust his maids to the wall.
Gregory. The quarrel is between our masters and
us their men.
Sampson. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant;
when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel
with the maids and cut off their heads.
Gregory. Draw thy tool; [here comes two] of the
house of the Montagues.
Sampson. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I 30
will back thee.
Gregory. How? turn thy back and run?
Sampson. Fear me not.
Gregory. No, marry; I fear thee!
Sampson. Let us take the law of our sides; let
them begin.
Gregory. I will frown as I pass by, and let them
take it as they list.
Sampson. Nay, as they dare. [I will bite my thumb
at them,] which is a disgrace to them if they bear it. 40
Enter Abram and Balthasar
Abram. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sampson. I do bite my thumb, sir.
Abram. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sampson. [Aside to Gregory] Is the law [of our
side,] if I say ay?
Gregory. No.
Sampson. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you,
sir, but I bite my thumb, sir.
Gregory. Do you quarrel, sir?
Abram. Quarrel, sir! no, sir. 50
Sampson. If you do, sir, I am for you; I serve as
good a man as you.
Abram. No better.
Sampson. Well, sir.
Gregory. [Aside to Sampson] Say 'better'; [here
comes one] of my master's kinsmen.
Sampson. Yes, better, sir.
Abram. You lie.
Sampson. Draw, if you be men.—Gregory, remember
thy [swashing blow.] [They fight. 60
Enter Benvolio
Benvolio. Part, fools!
Put up your swords; you know not what you do. [Beats down their swords.
Enter Tybalt
Tybalt. What, [art thou drawn] among these heartless hinds?
Turn thee, [Benvolio,] look upon thy death.
Benvolio. I do but keep the peace; put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.
Tybalt. What, drawn and talk of peace! I hate the word,
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee;
[Have at thee,] coward! [They fight.
Enter several of both houses who join the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs
70
First Citizen. [Clubs,] bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down!
Down with [the Capulets!] down with the Montagues!
[Enter Capulet in his gown,] and Lady Capulet
Capulet. What noise is this? Give me my [long sword,] ho!
Lady Capulet. [A crutch, a crutch!] why call you for a sword?
Capulet. My sword, I say! Old Montague is come,
And flourishes his blade [in spite] of me.
Enter Montague and Lady Montague
Montague. Thou villain Capulet!—Hold me not, let me go.
Lady Montague. Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.
Enter Prince, with his train
Prince. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this [neighbour-stained] steel,—
Will they not hear? What, ho! you men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins,
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your [mistemper'd] weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your [moved] prince.—
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,
And made Verona's [ancient] citizens
Cast by their [grave beseeming] ornaments,
To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
[Canker'd with peace,] to part your canker'd hate.
If ever you disturb 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,
To old [Freetown,] our common judgment-place.—
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
[Exeunt all but Montague, Lady Montague, and Benvolio.
Montague. Who [set] this ancient quarrel new abroach?
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
Benvolio. Here were the servants of your [adversary]
And yours close fighting ere I did approach.
I drew to part them; in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt with his sword prepar'd,
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head and cut the winds,
Who, [nothing hurt withal,] hiss'd him in scorn.
[While we] were interchanging thrusts and blows,
Came more and more, and fought on part and part,
Till the prince came, who parted either part.
Lady Montague. O, where is Romeo? [saw you him to-day?]
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
Benvolio. Madam, an hour before [the worshipp'd sun]
Peer'd [forth] the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where, underneath the grove of [sycamore]
That westward [rooteth] from the city's side,
So early walking did I see your son.
Towards him I made, but he was [ware] of me
And stole into the covert of the wood;
I, measuring his [affections] by my own,
[Which then] most sought where most might not be found,
Being one too many by my weary self,
Pursued my humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd [who] gladly fled from me.
Montague. Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs;
But [all so soon] as the all-cheering sun
Should in the farthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my [heavy] son,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out,
And makes himself an artificial night.
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
Benvolio. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Montague. I neither know it nor can learn of him.
Benvolio. Have you [importun'd] him by any means?
Montague. Both by myself and many other friends;
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself—I will not say how true—
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit [with] an envious worm
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air
Or dedicate his beauty to the [sun.]
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure as know.
Enter Romeo
Benvolio. See, where he comes! So please you, step aside;
I'll know his grievance or be much denied.
Montague. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay
[To hear] true shrift.—Come, madam, let's away.
[Exeunt Montague and Lady.
Benvolio. Good morrow, cousin.
Romeo. [Is the day so young?]
Benvolio. But [new] struck nine.
Romeo. Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
160
Benvolio. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Romeo. Not having that which, having, makes them short.
Benvolio. In love?
Romeo. Out—
Benvolio. Of love?
Romeo. Out of her favour where I am in love.
Benvolio. Alas, that love, so gentle [in his view,]
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!
Romeo. [Alas, that love,] whose view is muffled still,
Should without eyes see pathways to his will!
Where shall we dine?—O me! What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
[Here's much] to do with hate, but more with love.
Why, then, [O brawling love!] O loving hate!
O any thing, of nothing first created!
O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health!
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?
180
Benvolio. No, coz, I rather weep.
Romeo. Good heart, at what?
Benvolio. At thy good heart's oppression.
Romeo. Why, such is love's transgression.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
With more of thine; this love that thou hast shown
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke [rais'd] with the fume of sighs;
Being [purg'd,] a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears.
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
[A choking gall,] and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz.
Benvolio. Soft! I will go along;
An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Romeo. Tut, I have lost myself, I am not here;
This is not Romeo, he's [some other where.]
Benvolio. Tell me in [sadness] who is that you love.
Romeo. What, shall I groan and tell thee?
Benvolio. Groan! why, no,
But sadly tell me who.
Romeo. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will;
Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill!
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
Benvolio. I aim'd so near when I suppos'd you lov'd.
Romeo. A right good [mark-man!] And she's fair I love.
Benvolio. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
Romeo. Well, in that hit you miss. She'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow; she hath [Dian's wit,]
And, in strong [proof] of chastity well arm'd,
From Love's weak childish bow she lives unharm'd.
She will not stay [the siege] of loving terms,
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold.
O, she is rich in beauty! only poor
[That, when she dies,] with beauty dies her store.
Benvolio. Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?
Romeo. She hath, and [in that sparing makes huge waste;]
For beauty [starv'd] with her severity
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair;
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead that live to tell it now.
Benvolio. Be rul'd by me, forget to think of her.
Romeo. O, teach me how I should forget to think.
Benvolio. By giving liberty unto thine eyes;
Examine other beauties.
Romeo. 'Tis the way
[To call hers, exquisite,] in question more.
[These happy masks] that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair.
He that is [strucken] blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
Show me a mistress that is [passing] fair,
What doth her beauty serve but as a note
Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?
Farewell; thou canst not teach me to forget.
Benvolio. I'll [pay that doctrine] or else die in debt. Exeunt.