“What, are you hurt?” said Benvolio.
“Ay, ay, a scratch—a scratch,” said Mercutio, with an attempt at his old light manner. “Marry, it’s enough. Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.”
“Courage, man, the hurt cannot be much,” said Romeo tenderly.
“No, it’s not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door,” said Mercutio, in his usual jesting style, though he could only gasp out the words with difficulty; “but it’s enough; it will serve. Ask for me to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world.... A plague on both your houses! ... Why the devil did you come between us? I was hurt under your arm.”
“I thought all for the best,” said poor Romeo.
“Help me into some house, Benvolio, or I shall faint,” gasped Mercutio.... “A plague on both your houses! ... they have made worm’s meat of me ... your houses....”
Benvolio supported Mercutio away, but returned in a few minutes with the mournful tidings that the brave and gallant spirit had taken flight. Mercutio, the brilliant wit, the loyal friend, the light-hearted comrade, had fallen a victim to the dissension between the houses of Montague and Capulet. Jealous of his friend’s honour, as of his own, he had risked all in its defence, and he faced death, as he had done life, with undaunted bearing and a smile on his lips.
Benvolio had scarcely told the news when back came Tybalt, and, furious at the loss of his friend, Romeo hurled aside all thoughts of leniency, and straightway sprang at his murderer. The fight was brief, and Tybalt fell. Romeo was hastily hurried off by Benvolio, for the whole town was now in an uproar, and he knew that, if taken, Romeo would probably be doomed to death. Dazed by all the calamities which had suddenly fallen on him, Romeo let himself be persuaded, and departed almost in a dream.
The Prince of Verona now arrived, also Capulet and Montague, and crowds of other citizens. In reply to the Prince’s inquiries, Benvolio gave an account of what had happened, telling the story in the most favourable light he could for the absent Romeo, whose fault, indeed, it had no wise been. He told how Tybalt had provoked him, and how Romeo had tried to keep the peace, reminding the quarrelsome nobleman of the Prince’s displeasure; also how Tybalt had slain Mercutio when Romeo was trying to stop the duel; and how, after Mercutio’s death, Tybalt had come back and fought with Romeo. Before Benvolio could part them, Tybalt was slain, and now Romeo had fled.
The Capulets began to clamour for revenge. Benvolio, they said, was a kinsman to the Montagues, and his affection made him speak falsely; the matter was not as he described it. They begged for justice. Romeo had slain Tybalt; Romeo must die.