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.
Consort! What, dost thou make us minstrels? Anthou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing butdiscords. [Pointing to his sword] Here's my fiddlestick;here's that shall make you dance. Zounds, 'consort'!
Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford No better term than this: thou art a villain.
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 knowest me not.
I am for you 
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 pilcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.
Thou wretched boy, that didst consort him here, Shalt with him hence
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.
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.