Cit.
Which way ran he that kill'd Mercutio?
Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?

Ben.
There lies that Tybalt.

Cit.
Up, Sir. Go with me.
I charge thee in the Prince's name, obey. Enter Prince, Montague, Capulet, their Wives, &c.

Prin.
Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

Ben.
O noble Prince, I can discover all
Th' unlucky manage of this fatal brawl.
There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,
That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.

La. Cap.
Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child!—
Prince, O—cousin—husband—O—the blood is spill'd
Of my dear kinsman. Prince, ^{3 note}as thou art true,
For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague.
O! cousin, cousin.

Prin.
Benvolio, who began this fray?

Ben.
Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay;
Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink
^{4 note}

How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal
Your high displeasure; all this uttered
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd,
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt, deaf to peace; but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast;
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
And with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
Cold death aside, and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
Retorts it. Romeo he cries aloud,

Hold, friends! friends, part! and, swifter than his tongue,
His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled;
But by and by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
And to't they go like lightning; for ere I
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain;
And as he fell, did Romeo turn to fly.
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.

La. Cap.
He is a kinsman to the Montagues,
^{5 note}Affection makes him false, he speaks not true.
Some twenty of them fought in this black strife,
And all those twenty could but kill one life.
I beg for justice, which thou, Prince, must give;
Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.

Prin.
Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio;
Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?

La. Mont.
Not Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio's friend;
His fault concludes but what the law should end,
The life of Tybalt.

Prin.
And for that offence,
Immediately we do exile him hence:
^{6 note}

But I'll amerce you with so strong a fine,
That you shall all repent the loss of mine.
I will be deaf to pleading and excuses,
Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses;
Therefore use none; let Romeo hence in haste,
Else, when he's found, that hour is his last.
Bear hence his body, and attend our will:
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. [Exeunt.

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