[Enter Sampson and Gregory, two high ranking servants of the Capulet household, carrying swords and shields. Gregory is making fun of Sampson who sees himself as a fearsome fighter]
Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry coals.
No, for then we should be colliers.
I mean, an we be in choler we'll draw.
Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o' the collar.
I strike quickly, being moved.
But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand.
Therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.
A dog of that house shall move me to stand. I will
take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.
That shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goes
True, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels,
are ever thrust to the wall. Therefore I will push
Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids
The quarrel is between our masters; and us,
'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant. When I
have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the
maids and cut off their heads.
Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maiden-heads.
Take it in what sense thou wilt.
They must take it in sense that feel it.
Me they shall feel while I am able to stand; and
'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.
'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.
My naked weapon is out. Quarrel, I will back thee.
How? Turn thy back and run?
Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.
I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as
Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them,
which is a disgrace to them if they bear it.
[Enter Abraham and Balthasar, two servants from the Montague household. Sampson bites his thumb at them.]
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
[Aside to Gregory] Is the law of our side if I say ay?
No, sir. I do not bite my thumb at you, sir. But I
If you do, sir, I am for you. I serve as good a man
Say 'better.' – Here comes one of my master's kinsmen.
[Enter Tybalt, a young Capulet nobleman; Benvolio, a young Montague nobleman, enters separately]
Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy
[The servants draw their swords and fight. Benvolio draws his sword and approaches the fighting men.]
Part, fools, put up your swords; you know not what
[Tybalt draws his sword and addresses Benvolio]
What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
I do but keep the peace. Put up thy sword,
Or manage it to part these men with me.
What, drawn and talk of peace! I hate the word,
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee.
[They fight. More noblemen and servants from both houses arrive and join in the fighting. Then a number of other citizens armed with clubs and spears appear on the scene. Finally a police officer shows up.]
Clubs, bills, and partisans! Strike; beat them down!
Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!
[Enter the elderly Lord Capulet in his nightgown and Lady Capulet]
What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!
A crutch, a crutch — why call you for a sword?
My sword, I say! Old Montague is come,
And flourishes his blade in spite of me.
[Enter the elderly Lord Montague in his nightgown and Lady Montague trying to restrain her husband]
Thou villain Capulet. [To his wife] Hold me not, let me go.
Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.
[Enter the Prince with his attendants]
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 mistemper'd weapons to the ground.
And hear the sentence of your movèd 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 partisans 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.
[Exit all but Montague, Lady Montague, and Benvolio]
Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
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 prepared,
Which, as he breathed 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.
O, where is Romeo? Saw you him today?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun
Peer'd forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drove me to walk abroad,
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth from this city 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 –
Which then most sought where most might not be found,
Being one too many by my weary self –
Pursued my humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning 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 the 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 humor prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
I neither know it, nor can learn of him.
Have you importuned him by any means?
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.
See where he comes. So please you, step aside.
I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
I would thou wert so happy by thy stay
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.
[Exit Montague and Lady Montague]
Ay me, sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Not having that, which having, makes them short.
Out of her favour where I am in love.
Alas that Love, so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!
Alas, that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will!
[Seeing signs of the brawl]
O me! What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with love.
Why, then, O brawling love, O loving hate,
O anything of nothing first created,
O heavy lightness, serious vanity,
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms,
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health,
Still-waking sleep that is not what it is.
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
At thy good heart's oppression.
Why, such is love's transgression.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
Which thou wilt propagate to have it pressed
With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs —
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears.
What is it else? A madness most discreet,
A choking gall and a preserving sweet.
And if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Tut, I have lost myself, I am not here;
this is not Romeo, he's some other where.
Tell me, in sadness, who is that you love.
What, shall I groan and tell thee?
A sick man, in sadness, makes his will —
A word ill-urged to one that is so ill.
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
I aim'd so near when I supposed you loved.
A right good marksman; and she's fair I love.
A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
Well, in that hit you miss; she'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow. She hath Diana's wit,
And in strong proof of chastity, well arm'd;
From Love's weak childish bow she lives uncharmed.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold.
O she is rich in beauty, only poor
That when she dies, with beauty dies her store.
Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?
She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste,
For beauty starved with her severity
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair.
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead that live to tell it now.
Be ruled by me; forget to think of her.
O, teach me how I should forget to think.
By giving liberty unto thine eyes,
To call hers, exquisite, in question more.
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows,
Being black, put us in mind they hide the fair.
He that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost.
Show me a mistress that is passing fair –
What doth her beauty serve but as a note
Where I may read who pass'd that passing fair?
Farewell. Thou canst not teach me to forget.
I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.