Tyb: I am apt enough to that if I haue occasion.
Mer: Could you not take occasion?
Tyb: Mercutio thou consorts with Romeo?
Mer: Consort. Zwounes consort? the slaue wil make fidlers 30
of vs. If you doe sirra, look for nothing but discord: For
heeres my fiddle-sticke.
Enter Romeo.
Tyb: Well peace be with you, heere comes my man.
Mer: But Ile be hanged if he weare your lyuery: Mary
go before into the field, and he may be your follower, so in 35
that sence your worship may call him man.
Tyb: Romeo the hate I beare to thee can affoord no better
words then these, thou art a villaine.
Rom: Tybalt the loue I beare to thee, doth excuse the
appertaining rage to such a word: villaine am I none, therfore 40
I well perceiue thou knowst me not.
Tyb: Bace boy this cannot serue thy turne, and therefore
drawe.