Romeo: Tybalt, the reason that I have to love theeDoth much excuse the appertaining rageTo such a greeting: villain am I none; Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not.
Tybalt: Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw.
Romeo: Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up
Tybalt: I am for you. (Drawing)
Mercutio: Good king of cats, nothing but one of your ninelives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as youshall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of theeight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcherby the ears?
Mercutio: I am hurt.A plague o' both your houses! I am sped.Is he gone, and hath nothing?
Benvolio: What, art thou hurt?
Romeo: Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.
Mercutio: Why the devil came you between us? Iwas hurt under your arm.
Romeo: I thought all for the best.
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.
Benvolio: Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.