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Draw if you be men.--Gregory, remember
thy washing blow.
Part, fools! Put up thy sword. You know not what you do.
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What, art thou drawn among there heartless hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio; look upon thy death.
I do but keep the peace. Put up thy sword or manage it to part these men with me.
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Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach?
Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
- Here were the servents of your advisary,
- And yours, close fighting ere I did approach.
- I drew to part them. In the instant came
- The fiery Tybalt with his sword prepared,
- Which, as he breathed defiance to my ears,
- He swung his sword about his head and cut the winds
- Who, nothing hurt withal, hissed him in scorn.
- While we were interchanging thrusts and blows
- Came more and fought on part and part,
- Till the prince came, who parted either part.
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O, where is Romeo? Saw you him today?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
- Madame, an hour before the worshiped sun
- Peered forth the golden window of the east,
- A troubled mind drove me to walk abroad,
- Where underneath the grove of sycamore
- That westward rooteth from this city side,
- So early walking did I see your son.
- Towards him I made, but he was 'ware of me
- And stole into the cover of the wood.
- I, measuring his affections by my own
- Which then most sought what most might not be found,
- Being one too many by my weary self,
- Pursued my humor, not pursuing his,
- And gladly shunned who gladly fled from me.
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