“Consort!” echoed Mercutio. “What, do you make us minstrels? If you make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords. Here’s my fiddlestick; here’s that which shall make you dance!” And he laid his hand threateningly on his sword.
“We talk here in the public haunt of men,” interposed Benvolio, for their wrangling had begun to attract the attention of two or three inquisitive passers-by. “Either withdraw to some private place, and talk over your grievances calmly, or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.”
“Men’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze,” said Mercutio coolly. “I will not budge for any man’s pleasure, I!”
“Well, peace be with you, sir; here comes my man,” said Tybalt, for he saw Romeo approaching.
“But I’ll be hanged, sir, if he wears your livery!” said Mercutio.
Straight from his marriage with Juliet, his heart full of joy, and his spirit breathing peace to all mankind, came Romeo. Even the insult with which Tybalt greeted him did not at such a moment rouse his anger. Tybalt was Juliet’s kinsman; in his overflowing love for Juliet, Romeo could not quarrel with one who might be dear to her.
“Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford no better term than this—thou art a villain!” said Tybalt.
“Tybalt,” returned Romeo mildly, “the reason I have for loving you prevents the rage which should follow such a greeting. I am no villain. Therefore, farewell. I see you do not know me.”
“Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries you have done me. Therefore turn and draw.”
“I do protest, I never injured you, but love you better than you can guess, till you shall know the reason of my love. And so, good Capulet—which name I speak as dearly as my own—be satisfied.”