Mercutio, outraged when Romeo refuses Tybalt's challenge, draws his own sword, and in the fighting that follows both he and Tybalt are killed. Romeo is banished from Verona.
I’m begging you, good Mercutio, let’s call it a day. It’s hot outside, and the Capulets are wandering around. If we bump into them, we’ll certainly get into a fight. When it’s hot outside, people become angry and hot-blooded.
You’re like one of those fellows who walks into a bar, slams his sword on the table, and then says, “I pray I never have to use you.” By the time he orders his second drink, he pulls his sword on the bartender for no reason at all.
Come on, you can be as angry as any guy in Italy when you’re in the mood. When someone does the smallest thing to make you angry, you get angry. And when you’re in the mood to get angry, you find something to get angry about.
Am I really such a fellow?
And what to?
If there were two men like you, pretty soon there’d be none because the two of you would kill each other. You would fight with a man if he had one more whisker or one less whisker in his beard than you have in your beard. You’ll fight with a man who’s cracking nuts just because you have hazelnut-colored eyes. Only you would look for a fight like that.
our head is as full of fights as an egg is full of yolk, but your head has been beaten like scrambled eggs from so much fighting. You started a fight with a man who coughed in the street because he woke up a dog that was sleeping in the sun. Didn’t you argue it out with your tailor for wearing one of his new suits before the right season? And with another for tying the new shoes he made with old laces? And yet you’re the one who wants to teach me about restraint!
If I were in the habit of fighting the way you are, my life insurance rates would be sky high.
Your life insurance? That’s foolish.
Oh great, here come the Capulets.
Well, well, I don’t care.
Follow me closely, I’ll talk to them
MERCUTIO, his page, and BENVOLIO enter with other men.
You just want one word with one of us? Put it together with something else. Make it a word and a blow.
Can’t you find a reason without my giving you one?
We’re talking here in a public place. Either go someplace private, or talk it over rationally, or else just go away. Out here everybody can see us.
This is my fiddlestick. I’ll use it to make you dance. Good riddance—“Hang out!”
Men’s eyes were made to see things, so let them watch. I won’t move to please anybody.
Enter TYBALT, PETRUCHIO, and other CAPULETS
He’s not your man. Alright, walk out into a field, and he’ll chase you. In that sense you can call him your “man.”
Well, may peace be with you. Here comes my man, the man I’m looking for.
Good afternoon, gentlemen. I’d like to have a word with one of you.
You’ll find me ready enough to do that, sir, if you give me a reason.
“Hang out?” Who do you think we are, musicians in a band? If we look like musicians to you, you can expect to hear nothing but noise.
Mercutio, you hang out with Romeo.
Tybalt, I have a reason to love you that lets me put aside the rage I should feel and excuse that insult. I am no villain. So, goodbye. I can tell that you don’t know who I am.
Romeo, there’s only one thing I can call you. You’re a villain.
I disagree. I’ve never done you harm. I love you more than you can understand until you know the reason why I love you. And so, good Capulet—which is a name I love like my own name—you should be satisfied with what I say.
Boy, your words can’t excuse the harm you’ve done to me. So now turn and draw your sword.
This calm submission is dishonourable and vile. The thrust of a sword will end this surrender. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you go fight me?
What do you want from me?
Good King of Cats, I want to take one of your nine lives. I’ll take one, and, depending on how you treat me after that, I might beat the other eight out of you too. Will you pull your sword out of its sheath? Hurry up, or I’ll smack you on the ears with my sword before you have yours drawn.
I’ll fight you.
Noble Mercutio, put your sword away.
I’ll fight you.
Come on, sir, perform your forward thrust, your passado.