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I pray thee,good Mercutio, let's retire. The day is hot, the Capels are abroad, For now,these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.
Come,Come,thou art as a hot jack in thy mood as any in Italy;and as soon mov'd to be moody, and as soon moody to be mov'd
I do protest I never injured thee, But love thee better than thou canst devise, till thou shalt know the reason of love; And so, good Capulet, which name I tender. As dearly as mine own, be satisfied
Boy,this shall not excuse the injuries that that hast done me; therefore turn and draw
A plague a' both houses! I am sped. I he gone and hath nothing.
He gone in triumph,and Mercutio slain? Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-ey'd fury my conduct now!
Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here, Shalt with him hence
O,I am fortune's fool!
Where are the vile beginners of this fray?
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