Capulets.
Sampson.
Gregory on my word we'll not carry coals.
Greg.
No, for then we should be colliers.
Sam.
I strike quickly, being mov'd.
Greg.
But thou art not quickly mov'd to strike.
Sam.
A dog of the house of Mountague moves me.
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 a weak slave, for the weakest goes to
the wall.
Sam.
True, and therefore women, being the weakest vessels,
are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Mountague's men
-- 246 --
from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.
Greg.
The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men.
Sam.
'Tis all one, I will shew my self a tyrant: when I have
fought with the men, I will be a notecruel 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 hadst, thou hadst
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
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.
Abr.
Do you bite your thumb at us, Sir?
Sam.
Is the law on our side, 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?
-- 247 --
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.
‡ noteEnter Benvolio.
Greg.
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.
Enter Tybalt.
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,
Or manage 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.
[Fight.
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.
-- 248 --
Enter old Mountague and lady Mountague.
Moun.
Thou villain, Capulet—Hold me not, let me go.
La Moun.
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 mis-temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three civil broils, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Mountague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,
And made Verona's antient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments;* note
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.
-- 249 --
George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
