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Scalus, Prince of Verona.
Paris, a young Nobleman in Love with Juliet,
and Kinsman to the Prince.
Mountague, 1 Two Lords of antient Families, Ene-
Capulet, } mies to each other.
Romeo, Son to Mountague.
Mercutio, Kinsman ta the Prince, and Friend to
Benvolio, Kinsman and Friend to Romeo.
Tybalt, Kinsman to Capulet.
Balchasar, Servant to Romeo.
Page to Paris.
Gregory, } Servants to Capulet.
Abram, Servant to Mountague.
Lady Mountague, Wife to Mountague.
Lady Capulet, Wife to Capulet.
Juliet, Daughter to Capulet, in Love with Romeo.
Nurse to Juliet.
Citizens of Verona, several Men and Women Re-
lations to Capulet, Maskers, Guards, and other Attendants.
The SCENE, in the beginning of the Fifth AEt,
is in Mantua; during all the rest of the Play, in and near Verona.
Enter Sampfon and Gregory, with Swords and Bucklers.
Regory, a my word we'll not carry Coals.
Greg. No, for then we should be Colliers.
Sam. I mean, if we be in Choler, we'll draw.
Greg. Ay, while you live, draw your Neck
Sam. I strike quickly, being mov'd.
Greg. But thou art not quickly moy'd ro strike.
Sam. A Dog of the House of Mountague moves m..
Greg. To move, is to stir; and to be valiant, is to stand: Therefore, if thou art mov’d, thou runn'st
away. Sam. A Dog of that House shall move me to stand: I will take the Wall of any Man or Maid of Mountague's.
Greg. That shews thee weak, Slave, for the weakest goes to the Wall.
Sam. True, and therefore Women, being the weakest Veslels, are ever thrust to the W:ll: therefore I will push Mountague's Men from the Wall, and thrust his Maids to the Wall.
Greg. The Quarrel is between our Mafters, and us their Men.
Sam. 'Tis all one, I will few iny self a Tyrant : when I have fought with the Men, I will be civil with the Maids, and cut off their Heads.
Greg. The Heads of the Maids?
Sam. Ay, the Heads of the Maids, or their Maiden-heads, Take it in what sense thou wilt.
Greg. 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.
Greg. 'Tis well thou art not Fish: if thou hadít, thou hadft been Poor John. Draw thy Tool, here comes of the House of the Mountagues.
Enter Abram and Balthasar.
Sam. My naked Weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee.
Greg. How? turn thy back and run?
Sam. Fear me not.
Greg. No, marry: I fear thee.
Sam. Let us take the Law of our sides: let them begin.
Greg. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they lift.
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?
Sem. I do lite my Thumb, Sir.
Abr. Do you bite your Thumb at us, Sir?
Sam. Is the Law on our Gide, if I say ay?
Sam. No, Sir, I do not bite my Thumb at you, Sir: but
I bite my Thumb, Sir.
Greg. Do you quarrel, Sir?
Abr. Quarrel, Sir? no, Sir.
Sam. If you do, Sir, I am for you; I serve as good a
Abr. No better?
Sam. Well, Sir.
Greg. Say better: here comes one of my Malter's Kinsmen.
Sam. Yes, better,
Abr. You Lie.
Sam. Draw, if you be Men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow,
[They fight. Ben, Part, Fools, put up your Swords, you know not what you do.
Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless Hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy Death.
Ben. I do but keep the Peace; put up thy Sword,
it to part these Men with me.
Tyb. What draw, and talk of Peace? I hate the word
As I hate Hell, all Mountagues and thee:
Have at thee, Coward.
Enter three or four Citizens with Clubs.
Offic, Clubs, Bills, and Partisans ! strike! beat them down,
Down with the Capulets, down with the Mountagues.
Enter old 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. A Sword, I say: Old Mountague is come,
And flourishes his Blade in spight of me.
Enter old Mountague and Lady Mountague.
Moun. Thou Villain, Capulet. Hold me not, let me go.
La. Mown. Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a Foe.
Enter Prince with Attendants
Prin, Rebellious Subjects, Enemies to Peace,
Prophaners 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 these bloody Hands
Throw your mistemper'd Weapons to the ground,
And hear the Sentence of your moved Prince.
Three civil B:oils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Mountague,
Have thrice difturb’d the quiet of our Streets,
And made Verona's antient Citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming Ornaments,
To wield old Partisans, in Hands as old,
Cankred with Peace, to part your Cankred-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, Mountague, 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 Capulet, &c. La. Moun. 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, e'er I did approach;
I drew to part them: In the instant came
The fiery Tibalt, with his Sword prepar’d,
Which as he breath'd Defiance to my Ears,
He swong about his Head, and cut the Winds,
Who nothing hurt withal, kissd bim 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. Moun. O where is Romeo, saw you him to Day?
Right glad am I, 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,
Where underneath the Grove of Sycamour,
That Westward rooteth from this City fide,
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 felf,
Pursued my Humour, not pursuing his,
And gladly shund, who gladly fi.d from me.
Moun. Many a Morning hath he there been seen
With Tears augmenting the fresh Morning Dew,
Adding to Clouds, more Clouds, with his deep fighs:
But all so soon as the all-cheering Sun,