Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good den. A word with one of you
Consort? What, dost thou make us minstrels? An thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords. Here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall make you dance. Zounds, consort!
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, thou consortest with Romeo.
Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries that thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw!
Tybalt, the reason I have to love thee doth much excuse the appertaining rage to such a greeting. Villian I am none. Therefore farewell. I see thou knowest me not
I am for you.
What wouldst thou have with me?
Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives. That I mean to make bold withal, and, as eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out
Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. Gentlemen, for shame! forbear this outrage! Tybalt, Mercutio, the Prince expressly hath forbid this bandying in Verona streets. Hold, Tybalt! Good Mercutio
Come, sir, your passado!
Courage, man. The hurt cannot be much.
What, art thou hurt?
I am hurt, a plage o' both your houses! I am sped. Is he gone and hath nothing?
Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, 'tis enough. Where is my page? Go, villian, fetch a surgeon.