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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 contort'st with Romeo
Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting.
O Romeo, Romeo, Brave Romeo, brave Mercutio is dead!
Alive in triumph--and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now.
Oh, I am fortune's fool!
Romeo slew Tybalt, and for that offence immediately we do exile him hence
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