Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.
What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee. Have at thee, coward!
I do but keep the peace. Put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me.
Thou villain Capulet! Hold me not. Let me go.
My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me.
Alas, that love, so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!
Out of her favor, where I am in love.
Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance.
Give me a torch. I am not for this ambling. Being but heavy, I will bear the light.
I fear too early, for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night’s revels, and expire the term Of a despisèd life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But he that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail. On, lusty gentlemen.