Act I. Scene
I.
Act I. Scene I.—Verona. A Public Place.
Enter SAMPSON and GREGORY, armed with
swords and bucklers.
Sam. Gregory, o' my word, we'll not carry
coals.
Gre. No, for then we should be colliers.
Sam. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.
Gre. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out
o' the collar.
Sam. I strike quickly, being moved.
Gre. But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
Sam. A dog of the house of Montague moves
me.
Gre. To move is to stir, and to be valiant is
to stand; therefore, if thou art moved, thou
runnest away.
Sam. A dog of that house shall move me to
stand: I will take the wall of any man or maid
of Montague's.
Gre. That shows thee a weak slave; for the
weakest goes to the wall.
Sam. 'Tis true; and therefore women, being
the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall:
therefore I will push Montague's men from the
wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.
Gre. The quarrel is between our masters and
us their men.
Sam. 'Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant:
when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel
with the maids; I will cut off their heads.
Gre. The heads of the maids?
Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their
maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt.
Gre. 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.
Gre. 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst,
thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here
comes two of the house of the Montagues.
Enter ABRAHAM and BALTHASAR.
Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I
will back thee.
Gre. How! turn thy back and run?
Sam. Fear me not.
Gre. No, marry; I fear thee!
Sam. Let us take the law of our sides; let
them begin.
Gre. 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. [Aside to GREGORY.] Is the law of our
side if I say ay?
Gre. [Aside to SAMPSON.] No.
Sam. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you,
sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.
Gre. Do you quarrel, sir?
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.
Gre. [Aside to SAMPSON.] Say, 'better;' here
comes one of my master's kinsmen.
Sam. Yes, better, sir.
Abr. You lie.
Sam. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remem-
ber thy swashing blow. [They fight.
Enter BENVOLIO.
Ben. Part, fools!
Put up your swords; you know not what you
do. [Beats down their swords.
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! drawn, and talk of peace? I hate
the word,
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee.
Have at thee, coward! [They fight.
Enter several persons of both houses, who join
the fray; then enter Citizens, with clubs and
partisans.
Citizens. Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike!
beat them down!
Down with the Capulets! down with the Mon-
tagues!
Enter CAPULET in his gown, and LADY
CAPULET.
Cap. What noise is this? Give me my long
sword, ho!
Lady Cap. A crutch, a crutch! Why call you
for a sword?
Cap. My sword, I say! Old Montague is come,
And flourishes his blade in spite of me.
Enter MONTAGUE and LADY MONTAGUE.
Mon. Thou villain Capulet! Hold me not;
let me go.
Lady Mon. Thou shalt not stir one foot to
seek a foe.
Enter PRINCE with his Train.
Prin. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners 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 those bloody hands
Throw your mis-temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word,
By thee, old Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets,
And made Verona's ancient citizens
Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments,
To wield old partisans, in hands as old,
Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd 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, Montague, 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 all but MONTAGUE, LADY MON-
TAGUE, and BENVOLIO.
Mon. Who set this ancient quarrel new a-
broach?
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
Ben. Here were the servants of your adversary
And yours close fighting ere I did approach:
I drew to part them; in the instant came
The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd,
Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears,
He swung about his head, and cut the winds,
Who, nothing hurt withal hiss'd him 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.
Lady Mon. O! where is Romeo? saw you
him to-day?
Right glad I am 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 sycamore
That westward rooteth from the city's side,
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,
That most are busied when they're most alone,
Pursu'd my humour not pursuing his,
And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
Mon. Many a morning hath he there been
seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep
sighs:
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the furthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora's bed,
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out,
And makes himself an artificial night.
Black and portentous must this humour prove
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
Mon. I neither know it nor can learn of him.
Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means?
Mon. Both by myself and many other friends:
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself, I will not say how true,
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows
grow,
We would as willingly give cure as know.
Ben. See where he comes: so please you, step
aside;
I'll know his grievance, or be much denied.
Mon. I would thou wert so happy by thy
stay,
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.
[Exeunt MONTAGUE and LADY.
Enter ROMEO.
Ben. Good morrow, cousin.
Rom. Is the day so young?
Ben. But new struck nine.
Rom. Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's
hours?
Rom. Not having that, which having, makes
them short,
Ben. In love?
Rom. Out—
Ben. Of love?
Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love.
Ben. Alas! that love, so gentle in his view,
Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof.
Rom. Alas! that love, whose view is muffled
still,
Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will.
Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was
here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.
Here's much to do with hate, but more with
love:
Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O any thing! of nothing first create.
O heavy lightness i serious vanity!
Mis-shapen chaos of well-seeming forms!
Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick
health!
Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
This love feel I, that feel no love in this.
Dost thou not laugh?
Ben. No, coz, I rather weep.
Rom. Good heart, at what?
Ben. At thy good heart's oppression.
Rom. Why, such is love's transgression.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
Which thou wilt propagate to have it press'd
With more of thine: this love that thou hast
shown
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourished with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.
Farewell, my coz. [Going.
Ben. Soft, I will go along;
An if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
Rom. Tut! I have lost myself; I am not
here;
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.
Ben. Tell me in sadness, who is that you love.
Rom. What! shall I groan and tell thee?
Ben. Groan! why, no;
But sadly tell me who.
Rom. Bid a sick man in sadness make his
will;
Ah! word ill urg'd to one that is so ill.
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
Ben. I aim'd so near when I suppos'd you
lov'd.
Rom. A right good mark-man! And she's fair
I love.
Ben. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest
hit.
Rom. Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not
be hit
With Cupid's arrow; she hath Dian's wit;
And, in strong proof of chastity well arm'd,
From love's weak childish bow she lives un-
harm'd.
She will not stay the siege of loving terms,
Nor bide the encounter of assailing eyes,
Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold:
O! she is rich in beauty; only poor
That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store.
Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still
live chaste?
Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes
huge waste;
For beauty, starv'd with her severity,
Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair,
To merit bliss by making me despair:
She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow
Do I live dead that live to tell it now.
Ben. Be rul'd by me; forget to think of her.
Rom. O! teach me how I should forget to
think.
Ben. By giving liberty unto thine eyes:
Examine other beauties.
Rom. 'Tis the way
To call hers exquisite, in question more.
These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows
Being black put us in mind they hide the fair;
He, that is strucken blind cannot forget
The precious treasure of his eyesight lost:
Show me a mistress that is passing fair,
What doth her beauty serve but as a note
Where I may read who pass'd that passing
fair?
Farewell: thou canst not teach me to forget
Ben. I'll pay that doctrine, or else die in
debt. [Exeunt.
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