Act 3, Scene 1
A public place.

Enter MERCUTIO, BENVOLIO, Page, and Servants

BENVOLIO:  I pray thee, good Mercutio, let's retire.:
                  The day is hot, the Capulets abroad,
                  And, if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl;
                  For now, these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.

MERCUTIO:  Thou art like one of those fellows that when he
                   enters the confines of a tavern claps me his sword
                   upon the table and says 'God send me no need of
                   thee!" and by the operation of the second cup draws
                   it on the drawer, when indeed there is no need.

BENVOLIO:  Am I like such a fellow?

MERCUTIO:  Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as
                   any in Italy, and as soon moved to be moody, and as
                   soon moody to be moved.

BENVOLIO:  And what to?

MERCUTIO:  Nay, an there were two such, we should have none
                   shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou! why,
                   thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more,
                   or a hair less, in his beard, than thou hast. Thou
                   wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no
                   other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes.  What
                   eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel?
                   Thy head is as fun of quarrels as an egg is full of
                   meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as
                   an egg for quarrelling.  Thou hast quarreled with a
                   man for coughing in the street, because he hath
                   wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun.
                   Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing
                   his new doublet before Easter?  With another, for
                   tying his new shoes with old riband?  And yet thou
                   wilt tutor me from quarrelling!

BENVOLIO:  An I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man
                   should buy the fee-simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.

MERCUTIO:  The fee-simple! O simple!

BENVOLIO:  By my head, here come the Capulets.

MERCUTIO:  By my heel, I care not.

Enter TYBALT and others

TYBALT:  (to his kinsman) Follow me close, for I will speak to them.
               Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you.

MERCUTIO:  And but one word with one of us? couple it with
                   something; make it a word and a blow.

TYBALT:  You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you
               will give me occasion.

MERCUTIO:  Could you not take some occasion without giving?

TYBALT:  Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,--

MERCUTIO:  Consort! what, dost thou make us minstrels? an
                   thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but
                   discords.   (Touching his rapier)  Here's my fiddlestick;
                   here's that shall make you dance. 'Zounds, consort!

BENVOLIO:  We talk here in the public haunt of men.
                   Either withdraw unto some private place,
                   And reason coldly of your grievances,
                   Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.

MERCUTIO:  Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze;
                   I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I.

Enter ROMEO

TYBALT:  (To Benvolio) Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man.

MERCUTIO:  But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery.
                   Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower;
                   Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.'

TYBALT:  (Confronting Romeo) Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford
               No better term than this,--thou art a villain.

ROMEO:  Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
              Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
              To such a greeting; villain am I none;
              Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not.

TYBALT:  (contemptuously) Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
               That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw.

ROMEO:  I do protest, I never injured thee,
              But love thee better than thou canst devise,
              Till thou shalt know the reason of my love.
              And so, good Capulet,--which name I tender
              As dearly as my own,--be satisfied.

MERCUTIO:  (drawing his sword) O calm, dishonorable, vile submission!
                   Alla stoccata carries it away.
                   Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?

TYBALT:  What wouldst thou have with me?

MERCUTIO:  Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine
                   lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you
                   shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the
                   eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher
                   by the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your
                   ears ere it be out.

TYBALT:  (Drawing) I am for you.

ROMEO:  Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.

MERCUTIO:  Come, sir, your passado.

They fight

ROMEO:  Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons.
              Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage!
              Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hath
              Forbidden bandying in Verona streets:
              Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio!

TYBALT under ROMEO's arm stabs MERCUTIO, and flies with his followers

MERCUTIO:  I am hurt.
                  A plague o' both your houses! I am sped.
                  Is he gone, and hath nothing?

BENVOLIO:  What, art thou hurt?

MERCUTIO:  Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough.
                   Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.

Exit Page

ROMEO:  Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.

MERCUTIO:  No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a
                   church door; but 'tis enough,'twill serve. Ask for
                   me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I
                   am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o'
                   both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a
                   cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a
                   rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of
                   arithmetic! Why the devil came you between us? I
                   was hurt under your arm.

ROMEO:  I thought all for the best.

MERCUTIO:  Help me into some house, Benvolio,
                   Or I shall faint. A plague o' both your houses!
                   They have made worms' meat of me; I have it,
                   And soundly too.  Your houses!

MERCUTIO is helped off by BENVOLIO and some Servants.

ROMEO:  This gentleman, the prince's near ally,
              My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt
              In my behalf; my reputation stain'd
              With Tybalt's slander,--Tybalt, that an hour
              Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet,
              Thy beauty hath made me effeminate
              And in my temper soften'd valour's steel!

Reenter BENVOLIO

BENVOLIO:  O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio's dead!
                   That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds,
                   Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.

ROMEO:  This day's black fate on more days doth depend;
              This but begins the woe, others must end.

             Reenter TYBALT

BENVOLIO:  Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.

ROMEO:  Alive, in triumph--and Mercutio slain!
              Away to heaven, respective lenity,
              And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!
              Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again,
              That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio's soul
              Is but a little way above our heads,
              Staying for thine to keep him company:
              Either thou, or I, or both, must go with him.

TYBALT:  Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here,
               Shalt with him hence.

ROMEO:  (Drawing his sword) This shall determine that.

They fight. TYBALT falls dead.

BENVOLIO:  Romeo, away, be gone!
                   The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.
                   Stand not amazed; the prince will doom thee death,
                   If thou art taken; hence, be gone, away!

ROMEO:  O, I am fortune's fool!

BENVOLIO:  Why dost thou stay?

Enter Several Citizens.

First Citizen:  Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio?
                    Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?

BENVOLIO:  There lies that Tybalt.

First Citizen:  (to Benvolio) Up, sir, go with me;
                    I charge thee in the prince's name, obey.

Enter Prince Escalus, attended; MONTAGUE, CAPULET, their Wives, and others.

PRINCE:  Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

BENVOLIO:  O noble prince, I can discover all
                   The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl.
                   There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,
                   That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.

LADY CAPULET:  Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child!
                          O prince! O cousin! husband! O, the blood is spilt
                          O my dear kinsman! Prince, as thou art true,
                          For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.
                          O cousin, cousin!  (She kneels over the body)

PRINCE:   Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?

BENVOLIO:  Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay;
                   Romeo that spoke him fair, bade him bethink
                   How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal
                   Your high displeasure: all this uttered
                   With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd,
                   Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
                   Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts
                   With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast,
                   Who all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
                   And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
                   Cold death aside, and with the other sends
                   It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity,
                   Retorts it.  Romeo he cries aloud,
                   "Hold, friends! friends, part!" and, swifter than his tongue,
                   His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
                   And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm
                   An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
                   Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled;
                   But by and by comes back to Romeo,
                   Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
                   And to 't they go like lightning, for, ere I
                   Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain.
                   And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly.
                   This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.

LADY CAPULET:  He is a kinsman to the Montague;
                          Affection makes him false; he speaks not true.
                          Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,
                          And all those twenty could but kill one life.
                          I beg for justice, which thou, prince, must give;
                          Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.

PRINCE:  Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio;
              Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?

MONTAGUE:  Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend;
                    His fault concludes but what the law should end,
                    The life of Tybalt.

PRINCE:  And for that offence
              Immediately we do exile him hence.
              I have an interest in your hate's proceeding,
              My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding;
              But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine
              That you shall all repent the loss of mine.
      (Shouting above loud outcries from Montagues and Capulets.)
              I will be deaf to pleading and excuses;
              Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses.
              Therefore use none.  Let Romeo hence in haste,
              Else, when he's found, that hour is his last.
              Bear hence this body and attend our will.
              Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.

Exeunt