Page 34
Mercutio:
And but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it a word and a blow.
Tybalt:
You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, and you will give me occasion.
Mercutio:
Could you not take some occasion without giving?
Tybalt:
Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo.
Mercutio:
Consort? What, dost thou make us minstrels? And thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords. Here’s my fiddlestick, here’s that shall make you dance. Zounds, consort!
Benvolio:
We talk here in the public haunt of men.
Either withdraw unto some private place,
And reason coldly of your grievances,
Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.
Mercutio:
Men’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze.
I will not budge for no man’s pleasure, I.
Enter Romeo.
Tybalt:
Well, peace be with you, sir, here comes my man.
Mercutio:
But I’ll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery.
Marry, go before to field, he’ll be your follower;
Your worship in that sense may call him man.
Tybalt:
Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford
No better term than this: Thou art a villain.
Romeo:
Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee
Doth much excuse the appertaining rage
To such a greeting. Villain am I none;
Therefore farewell; I see thou know’st me not.
Tybalt:
Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast done me, therefore turn and draw.
Romeo:
I do protest I never injur’d 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 tender
As dearly as mine own, be satisfied.
Mercutio:
O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!
(Draws.) Alla stoccata carries it away.
Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?
Tybalt:
What wouldst thou have with me?
Mercutio:
Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.
Tybalt:
(Drawing.) I am for you.
Romeo:
Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.
Mercutio:
Come, sir, your passado.
(They fight.)