First Off. Which way ran he that kill'd
Mercutio?

Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?
Ben. There lies that Tybalt.
First Off.

Up, sir, go with me; I charge thee in the prince's name, obey.

Enter PRINCE, attended; MONTAGUE, CAPULET, their Wives, and others.

Prin. Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

Ben. O noble prince, I can discover all The unlucky manage1 of this fatal brawl: There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.

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La. Cap. Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother's child!

O prince!-O husband!—O, the blood is spilt Of my dear kinsman!-Prince, as thou art true,2

For blood of ours, shed blood of Montague. O cousin, cousin!

Prin. Benvolio, who began this bloody fray? Ben. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay;

Romeo, that spoke him fair, bade him bethink
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

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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,

La. Cap. He is a kinsman to the Montague; 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? Mon. Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend;

His fault concludes but what the law should

I have an interest in your hate's proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie ableeding;

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. 200
Bear hence this body, and attend our will:
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that
kill.]
[Exeunt.

SCENE II. Capulet's orchard.

Enter JULIET.

Jul. Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phoebus' lodging; such a waggoner As Phaeton would whip you to the west,

Give me my Romeo: and, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine, That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun.{[O! I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold, Not yet enjoy'd: ] so tedious is this day As is the night before some festival

To an impatient child, that hath new robes, 30 And may not wear them. O! here comes my

Nurse. Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!

We are undone, lady, we are undone! Alack the day!-he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead!

Jul. Can heaven be so envious? Nurse. Romeo can, 40 Though heaven cannot:-O Romeo, Romeo!Who ever would have thought it?-Romeo!

Jul. What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?

[This torture should be roar'd in dismal hell.
Hath Romeo slain himself? say thou but “I,”6
And that bare vowel "I" shall poison more
Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice:
I am not I, if there be such an "I;"
Or those eyes shut, that make thee answer "I.”
If he be slain, say "I;" or if not, “no:" 50
Brief sounds determine of my weal or woe.
e.]

Nurse. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes,

God save the mark!-here on his manly breast:
A piteous corse, a bloody piteous corse;
Pale, pale as ashes, all bedaub'd in blood,
All in gore-blood; I swoonded at the sight.
Jul. O, break, my heart!-poor bankrupt,
break at once!

To prison, eyes! ne'er look on liberty!
Vile earth, to earth resign; end motion here;
And thou, and Romeo, press one heavy bier! 60
Nurse. O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I
had!

O courteous Tybalt! honest gentleman!
That ever I should live to see thee dead!

Jul. What storm is this, that blows so contrary?

Is Romeo slaughter'd; and is Tybalt dead? [My dear-lov'd cousin, and my dearer lord?--Then, dreadful trumpet, sound the general doom!

For who is living, if those two are gone?]

Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo that kill'd him, he is banished.

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Jul. O God!-did Romeo's hand shed Tybalt's blood?

Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day! it did.

CI, the old spelling of aye.

These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.]

Shame come to Romeo!

Jul. Blister'd be thy tongue 90 For such a wish! he was not born to shame : Upon his brow shame is asham'd to sit; For 't is a throne where honour may be crown'd Sole monarch of the universal earth. O, what a beast was I to chide at him! Nurse. Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin?

Jul. Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband?

Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,

When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it?

[But wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin?

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That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband:]

Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;
Your tributary drops belong to woe,
Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.

My husband lives, that Tybalt would have

slain;

And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband:

All this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's

death,

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That murdered me; I would forget it fain; But, O! it presses to my memory, Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds: "Tybalt is dead, and Romeo-banished;" [That "banished," that one word "banished,” Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death Was woe enough, if it had ended there: Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship, And needly will be rank'd with other griefs,Why followed not, when she said "Tybalt's dead,"

Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both, Which modern1 lamentation might have?

Where Juliet lives; and every cat and dog, 30
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,
Live here in heaven, and may look on her;
But Romeo may not:—more validity,1
More honourable state, more courtship lives
In carrion-flies than Romeo: they may seize
On the white wonder of dear Juliet's hand,
And steal immortal blessing from her lips;
Who, even in pure and vestal modesty,
Still blush, as thinking their own kisses sin;
But Romeo may not; he is banished:
[Flies may do this, but I from this must fly:
They are free men, but I am banished.]
And say'st thou yet that exile is not death?
Hadst thou no poison mix'd, no sharp-ground
knife,

40