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Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee, Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries done to thee.
Ay, Ay, A scratch, A scratch. A plague on both your houses.
Away to heaven respective lenity, And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now!
There lies that Tybalt
Which ways ran he that killed Mercutio
Romeo slew him. He slew Mercutio. Who now the price og his dear blood doth owe
He is a Kinsman of the Montagues!
Else, when he is found, that hour is his last. Bear hence this body, and attend our will. Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill
Immediately we do exile him!
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