ROMEO and JULIET. ACT I. SCENE I. The 'Street, in VERONA. Enter Sampfon and Gregory, (with fwords and bucklers,) two fervants of the Capulets. GR SAMPSON. REGORY, on my word, we'll not carry coals. Greg. No, for then we fhould be colliers: Sam. I mean, an' we be in Choler, we'll draw. Greg. Ay, while you live, draw your Neck out of the Collar. Sam. I ftrike quickly, being mov'd. Greg. But thou art not quickly mov'd to ftrike. Sam. A dog of the House of Montague moves me. Greg. To move, is to ftir; and to be valiant, is to fland: therefore, if thou art mov'd, thou runn'ft away. Sam. A dog of that House fhall move me to ftand: 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 thruft to the wall:-therefore I will pufh Montague's men from the wall, and thruft his maids to the wall. Greg. Greg. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men. Sam. 'Tis all one, I will fhew myfelf 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 sense thou wilt. Greg. They must take it in fenfe, that feel it. Sam. Me they fhall feel, while I am able to ftand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh. Greg. 'Tis well thou art not fifh: if thou hadft, thou hadst been Poor John. Draw thy tool, here comes of the, Houfe 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! 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 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 fide, if I fay, ay? 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 Abr. No better. Sam. Well, Sir. Enter Benvolio. Greg. Say, better: here comes one of kinfmen. Sam. Yes, better, Sir. Abr. You lie. Sam. Draw, if you be men. thy fwashing blow. Gregory, remember Ben. Part, fools, put up your fwords, 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 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. Enter three or four citizens with clubs. [Fight. Off. Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! Down with the Capulets, down with the Montagues ! Enter old Capulet in his gown, and lady Capulet. Cap. What noife is this? give me my long sword, ho! La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch :why call you for a 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, Capulet-Hold me not; let me go. La. La. Mon. Thou shalt not flir a foot to seek a foc. Enter Prince with Attendants. Prin. Rebellious Subjects, enemies to peace, Have thrice difturb'd the Quiet of the streets; Caft by their grave, befeeming, ornaments; La. Mon. [Exeunt Prince and Capulet, &c. SCENE II. HO fet this ancient quarrel new abroach; WHO Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began? He He fwung about his head, and cut the winds: La. Mon. O where is Romeo! Saw you him to day? Right glad am I, he was not at this fray. Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd Sun Black and portentous muft his humour prove, Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? Mon. I neither know it, nor can learn it 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 fay, how true; But to himself fo fecret and fo close, So |