I do protest, I never injured thee,But love thee better than thou canst devise,Till thou shalt know the reason of my love:And so, good Capulet,--which name I tenderAs dearly as my own,--be satisfied.
Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries that thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw
O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!70 Alla stoccata carries it away. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?
What wouldst thou have with me?
I am for you.
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? make haste, lest mine be about yourears ere it be out.
Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
Come, sir, your passado.
Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons.Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage!Tybalt, Mercutio, the prince expressly hathForbidden bandying in Verona streets:Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio!
What, art thou hurt?
I am hurt. A plague o' both your houses! I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing?
Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough. Where is my page? Go, villain, fetch a surgeon.