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Sam. A dog of the Houfe of Montague moves me. Greg. To move, is to ftir, and to be valiant, is to ftand; therefore, if thou art mov'd, thou runn'st away.

Sam. A dog of that House fhall move me to stand. I will take the wall of any man, or maid of Montague's.

Greg. That fhews thee a weak flave; for the weakest goes to the wall.

Sam. True, and therefore women, being the weakest, are ever thrust to the wall:-therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thruft his maids to the wall.

Greg. The quarrel is between our mafters, and us their men.

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

Greg. The heads of the maids?

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

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

Sam. Me they fhall 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 hadft, thou hadft been Poor John. Draw thy tool, here comes of the House of the Montagues.

Enter Abram and Balthafar.

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 !

cruel with the maids,] The first folio reads ciúil with the

maids.

Sam.

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Sam. Let us take the law of our fides, 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 difgrace to them if they bear it.
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, Sir?
Sam. I do bite my thumb, Sir.

Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, Sir?"
Sam. Is the law on our fide, if I say, ay?
Greg. No.

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 ferve as good

a man, as you.

Abr. No better.

Sam. Well, Sir.

3 Enter Benvolio.

Greg. Say, better. Here comes one of my mafter's kinfmen.

Sam. Yes, better, Sir.

Abr. You lye.

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

[They fight. Ben. Part, fools, put up your fwords, you know not what you do.

Enter Tybalt.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartle hinds?

Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

Pore.

3 Enter Benvolio.] Much of Spear, fince we find it in that of this fcene is added fince the first the year 1599. edition; but probably by Shake

Ben:

B4

Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy fword, Or manage it to part these men with me.

Tyb. What drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word

As I hate hell, all Montagues and thee.
Have at thee, coward.

[Fight.

Enter three or four citizens with clubs.

Cit. Clubs, bills, and partifans! ftrike! beat them down!

Down with the Capulets, down with the Montagues!

Enter old Capulet in his gown, and lady Capulet. Cap. What noise is this? 4 give me my long sword, for a

ho!

La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch. Why call you fword?

Cap. My fword, I fay: old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in fpight of me.

Enter old Montague, and Lady Montague.

Mon. Thou villain, CapuletHold me not, let me go.

'La. Mon. Thou shalt not ftir a foot to feek a foe.

Enter Prince with attendants.

Prin. Rebellious Subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour ftained fteelWill they not hear? what ho! you men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage

4 give me my long fword.] The in war, which was fometimes long word was the fword ufed wielded with both hands.

With purple fountains iffuing from your veins;
On pain of torture, from thofe bloody hands
Throw your mif-temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the fentence of your moved Prince.
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice difturb'd the Quiet of our ftreets;
And made Verona's ancient Citizens
Caft by their grave, befeeming, ornaments;
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Cankred with peace, to part your cankred hate;
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives fhall pay the forfeit of the
For this time all the reft depart away,
You, Capulet, fhall go along with me;
And, Montague, con.e you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this cafe,
To old Free-town, our common judgment place:
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
[Exeunt Prince and Capulet, &c.

peace.

SCENE II.

La. Mon. Who fet this ancient quarrel new abroach; Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began?

Ben. Here were the fervants of your adverfary, And yours, clofe fighting, ere I did approach; I drew to part them: In the inflant came The fiery Tybalt, with his fword prepar'd, Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He fwung about his head, and cut the winds, Who, nothing hurt withal, hifs'd him in fcorn. While we were interchanging thrufts 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 am I, he was not at this fray.

Ben.

Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd Sun
Peer'd through the golden window of the East,
A troubled mind drew me to walk abroad,
Where underneath the grove of fycamour,
That weftward rooteth from the City fide,
So early walking did I fee your fon.

Tow'rds him I made; but he was 'ware of me,
And stole into the covert of the wood.

1, measuring his affections by my own,
s That moft are bufied when they're most alone,
Pursued my humour, not pursuing him

;

6

And gladly fhun'd, who gladly fled from me.
Mon. 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 fo foon as the all-chearing Sun
Should, in the furtheft Eaft, begin to draw
The fhady curtains from Aurora's bed;
Away from light steals home my heavy fon,
Ard private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks fair day-light out,
And makes himself an artificial night.
Black and portentous muft this humour prove,
Unlefs good counfel may the cause remove.

Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the caufe?
Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn it of him.

Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means? Mon. Both by myfelf and many other friends; But he, his own affections' counsellor,

5 Tht most are bufted, &c.] E-
dition 1597. Inttead of which
it is in the other editions thus.
by my oven.
Which then moft fught, where
mft might not be found,
Being one too many by my weary

Self,
Pufued my bumour, &c. POPE,

And gladly fhun'd, &c.] The ten lines following, not in edition 1597, but in the next of 1599. POPE. Ben. Have you importun'd, &c.] Thele two speeches alfo omitted in edition 1597, but inferted in 1599.

POPE.

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