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Sam. Let us take the law of our fides, let them


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 difgrace to them if they bear it.
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, Šir?
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?
Greg. No.

Sam. No, Sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, 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

à man, as you.

Abr. No better.

Sam. Well, Sir.

Enter Benvolio.

Greg. Say, better.

Here comes one of my master's


Sam. Yes, better, Sir.

Abr. Youlye.

Sam. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember

thy fwashing blow.

[They fight.

Ben. Part, fools, put up your fwords, you know hot what you do.

Enter Tybalt.

Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartlefs.


Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.

3 Enter Benvolio.] Much of this fcene is added fince the firft edition but probably by Shake

Spear, fince we find it in that of the year 1599.



Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy fword, thefe men with me.

Or manage

it to part

Tyb. What drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the


As I hate hell, all Montagues and thee.
Have at thee, coward.

Enter three or four citizens with clubs.


Cit. Clubs, bills, and partifans! ftrike! beat them down!

Down with the Capulets, down with the Montagues!

Enter old Capulet in his gown, and lady Capulet.

Cap. What noise is this? 4 give me my long sword,


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. Mon. Thou shalt not ftir a foot to feek a foe.

Enter Prince with attendants.

Prin. Rebellious Subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-ftained steelWill they not hear? what ho! you men, you beafts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage

4 give me my lorg/word.] The in war, which was fometimes Long Sword was the fword ufed wielded with both hands.

With purple fountains iffuing from your veins;
On pain of torture, from thofe bloody hands
Throw your mif-temper'd weapons to the ground,
And hear the fentence of your moved Prince.
Three civil broils, 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

Caft by their grave, befeeming, ornaments;
To wield old partizans, in hands as old,
Cankred with peace, to part your cankred hate;
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives fhall pay the forfeit of the
For this time all the reft depart away,
You, Capulet, fhall go along with me;
And, Montague, come you this afternoon,
To know our further pleasure in this cafe,
To old Free-town, our common judgment place:
Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.

[Exeunt Prince and Capulet, &c.

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La. Mon. Who fet this ancient quarrel new abroach; Speak, nephew, were you by, when it began?

Ben. Here were the fervants of your adverfary, And yours, close fighting, ere I did approach; I drew to part them: In the inftant came The fiery Tybalt, with his fword prepar'd, Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He fwung about his head, and cut the winds, Who, nothing hurt withal, hifs'd him in fcorn. While we were interchanging thrufts and blows, Came more and more, and fought on part and part, 'Till the Prince came, who parted either Part.

La. Mon. O where is Romeo! Saw you him to day? Right glad am I, he was not at this fray.


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Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd Sun Peer'd through the golden window of the Eaft, A troubled mind drew me to walk abroad, Where underneath the grove of fycamour, That weftward rooteth from the City fide, So early walking did I fee your fon.

Tow'rds him I made; but he was 'ware of me, And stole into the covert of the wood.

I, measuring his affections by my own,

5 That most are bufied when they're moft alone,
Pursued my humour, not purfuing him;

And gladly fhun'd, who gladly fled from me.
Mon. Many a morning hath he there been feen
With tears augmenting the frefh morning-dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep fighs
But all fo foon as the all-chearing Sun
Should, in the furtheft Eaft, begin to draw
The fhady curtains from Aurora's bed;
Away from light fteals home my heavy fon,
And private in his chamber pens himself,
Shuts up his windows, locks fair day-light out,
And makes himself an artificial night.
Black and portentous muft 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 it of him. 7 Ben. Have you importun'd him by any means? Mon. Both by myself and many other friends; But he, his own affections' counsellor,

5 That most are bufied, &c.] Edition 1597. Instead of which it is in the other editions thus.

- by my own.

Which then moft fought, where
moft might not be found,
Being one too many by my weary
Purfued my humour, &c. POPE.

6 And gladly fhunn'd, &c.] The ten lines following, not in edition 1597, but in the next of 1599. POPE.

7 Ben. Have you importun'd; &c.] Thefe two speeches alfo omitted in edition 1597, but inferted in 1599.


Is to himself, I will not fay, how true,
But to himself fo fecret and fo close,
So far from founding and difcovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,

Ere he can fpread his fweet leaves to the Air,


Or dedicate his beauty to the Sun.

Could we but learn from whence his forrows grow, We would as willingly give Cure, as know.

Enter Romeo.

Ben. See, where he comes. So please you, ftep afide, I'll know his grievance, or be much deny'd.

Mon. I would, thou wert fo happy by thy stay To hear true fhrift. Come, Madam, let's away.

Ben. Good-morrow, coufin.
Rom. Is the day so young?

Ben. But new ftruck nine.

Rom. Ah me, fad hours feem long!


-Was that my father that went hence fo faft?
Ben. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours?
Rom. Not having that, which, having, makes them

Beni. In love?

Rom. Out

Or dedicate his beauty to the Same.] When we come to confider, that there is fome power elfe befides balmy air, that brings forth, and makes the tender buds spread themfelves, I do not think it improbable that the Poet wrote;

Or dedicate his beauty to the Sun.

Or, according to the more ob

folete fpelling, Sunne; which brings it nearer to the traces of the corrupted text. THEOB.

I cannot but fufpect that fome lines are loft, which connected this fimile more closely with the foregoing fpeech; thefe lines, if fuch there were, lamented the danger that Romeo will die of. his melancholy, before his virtues or abilities are known to the world.


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