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fore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.

Gre. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men.

Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids; I will cut off their heads.

Gre. The heads of the maids?

Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt.

Gre. They must take it in sense, that feel it.

Sam. Me they shall feel, while I am able to stand: and, 'tis known, I am a pretty piece of flesh.

Gre. 'Tis well, thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been Poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes two of the house of the Montagues.3

Enter ABRAM and BALTHASAR. Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee.

Gre. How? turn thy back, and run?
Sam. Fear me not.
Gre. No, marry: I fear thee!

Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.

Gre. I will frown, as I pass by; and let them take it as they list.

Sam. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sam. I do bite my thumb, sir.

poor John.] is hake, dried, and salted. s here comes two of the house of the Montagues.] It should be observed, that the partizans of the Montague family wore a token in their hats, in order to distinguish them from their enemies, the Capulets. Hence throughout this play, they are known at a distance.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Sam. Is the law on our side, if I say—ay?
Gre. No.

Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.

Gre. Do you quarrel, sir?
Abr. Quarrel, sir? no, sir.

Sam. If you do, sir, I am for you; I serve as good a man as you.

Abr. No better.
Sam. Well, sir.

Enter Benvolio, at a Distance. Gre. Say—better; here comes one of my master's kinsmen.

Sam. Yes, better, sir.
Abr. You lie.

Sam. Draw, if you be men.-Gregory, remember thy swashing blow.

They fight. Ben. Part, fools; put up your swords; you know not what you do. [Beats down their Swords.

Enter TYBALT.
Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heart-

. less hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. Tyb. What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate

the word, As I hate hell, ail Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward.

[They fight.

Enter several Partizans of both Houses, who join the

Fray; then enter Citizens, with Clubs. i Cit. Clubs, bills,4 and partizans ! strike! beat

them down! Down with the Capulets! down with the Monta

gues ! Enter Capulet, in his Gown ; and Lady CAPULET. Cap. What noise is this ?-Give me my long

sword, ho! La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch!—Why call you for

a sword ? Cap. My sword, I say !-Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me.

Enter Montague and Lady MONTAGUE. Mon. Thou villain Capulet,-Hold me not, let

me go. La. Mon. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a

foe.

Enter Prince, with Altendants. . Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel, Will they not hear ? — what ho! you men, you

beasts,That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mis-temper'd weapons to the ground,

4 Clubs, bills, &c.] When an affray arose in the streets, clubs was the usual exclamation. S m is-temper'd weapons--] are angry weapons.

And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets;
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Canker’d with peace, to part your canker'd hate :
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
For this time, all the rest depart away:
You, Capulet, shall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this case,
To old Free-town, our common judgment-place.
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

[Exeunt Prince, and Attendants; CAPULET,

Lady CAPULET, TYBALT, Citizens, and

Servants. Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?-Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began?

Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary, And yours, close fighting ere I did approach: I drew to part them; in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd; Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He swung about his head, and cut the winds, Who, nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn: While we were interchanging thrusts and blows, Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the prince came, who parted either part. La. Mon. O, where is Romeo !--saw you him

to-day? Right glad I am, he was not at this fray.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;

So fight

the lined pre

Where--underneath the grove of sycamore,
That westward rooteth from the city's side,
So early walking did I see your son:
Towards him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood:
I, measuring his affections by my own,
That most are busied when they are most alone,
Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.

Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs:
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the furthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself;
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out,
And makes himself an artificial night:
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn of him. Ben. Have you impórtun'd him by any means?

Mon. Both by myself, and many other friends: But he, his own affections' counsellor, Is to himself, I will not say, how true But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm, Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly give cure, as know.

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