Come hither, cover'd with an [antic face],
To [fleer] and scorn at our solemnity?
Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,
To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.
Capulet. Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so?
Tybalt. Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe,
A villain that is hither come [in spite],
To scorn at our solemnity this night.
Capulet. Young Romeo is it?
Tybalt. 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.