Turn thy back and run? Fear me not. No, marry ; I fear thee! Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as. Nay , as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them,. Sampson bites his thumb at them. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir? I do bite my thumb, sir. No, sir. I do not bite my thumb at you, sir. But I. Do you quarrel, sir? Quarrel sir! If you do, sir, I am for you.
I serve as good a man. No better? Well, sir. Say 'better. Yes, better, sir. You lie. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy. Benvolio draws his sword and approaches the fighting men.
Part, fools, put up your swords; you know not what. What, art thou drawn among these 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. What, drawn and talk of peace! I hate the word,. As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee. Have at thee, coward! More noblemen and servants from both houses arrive and join in the fighting. Then a number of other citizens armed with clubs and spears appear on the scene.
Finally a police officer shows up. Clubs, bills , and partisans! Strike; beat them down! Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues! What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho! A crutch, a crutch — why call you for a sword? My sword, I say! Old Montague is come,. And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Thou villain Capulet.
Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe. 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 mistemper'd weapons to the ground. 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. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? 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 prepared,. Which, as he breathed 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. O, where is Romeo? Saw you him today? Right glad I am he was not at this fray. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun. Peer'd 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 covert of the wood. I, measuring his affections by my own —. Which then most sought where most might not be found,. Being one too many by my weary self —. Pursued my humour , not pursuing his ,. And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me. Many a morning hath he there been seen,. With tears augmenting the fresh morning 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 the 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 humor prove ,.
Unless good counsel may the cause remove. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? I neither know it, nor can learn of him. Have you importuned him by any means? 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. Put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. I hate the word As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee.
Have at thee, coward! But Tybalt, resident Capulet mean-guy, dashes in and says something like, "I'm going to get medieval on your…personage. Beat them down! Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues! Old Montague is come And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Adding fuel to the fire, the remaining members of each of the families come out to join the fight, or "fray," as they called it back then.
And the old dudes won't be deterred, even when Capulet's wife tells him a crutch would be more useful to him than a sword. If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time all the rest depart away. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart. Like any good schoolyard brawl, some authority figure shows up and puts an end to the fun. In this case, it is the Prince of Verona. And he's m-a-d. Apparently, this is the third time a full-scale riot has broken out because of the Capulet-Montague feud.
The Prince orders everyone to cease and desist. Except it takes him a lot longer to say it, and he adds that anyone breaking his no-fighting rule will be put to death. Speak, nephew, were you by when it began? 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 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 more and fought on part and part, Till the Prince came, who parted either part. Saw you him today? Right glad I am he was not at this fray. The Prince leaves, taking Capulet with him for a talking to. Montague has been ordered to visit the Prince for a knuckle-rapping later that day.
BENVOLIO Madam, 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.
I, measuring his affections by my own Which then most sought where 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. Romeo, we find out, has been moping around in a "grove of sycamore," which, by the way, is Shakespeare's way of hinting that Romeo is lovesick or "sick amour. Not only that, says Benvolio, but Romeo never wants to hang out anymore.
Black and portentous must this humor prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly give cure as know. Montague chimes in, complaining that all Romeo ever does when he's not skulking around in sycamore groves is lock himself up in his dark bedroom.
They've tried to figure out what's going on with him, but Romeo won't talk. Yep, sounds like a lovesick teenager to us. So please you, step aside. Benvolio, like any good friend, decides to spy for Romeo's parents.
When he sees Romeo coming, he tells them to skedaddle. He'll find out what's got Romeo so down and let them know. Was that my father that went hence so fast? Romeo wanders in and willingly tells Benvolio that he's in love with a girl who doesn't love him back. Where shall we dine? What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen 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? Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate to have it pressed With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz. Cue Romeo's sighing, lamenting, and poetic musings. For a moment, it seems like he'll be fine when he asks Benvolio where they should grab lunch.
But then he sees blood in the street from the brawl and goes into a downward spiral about how complex love is, so complex that it can inspire hate and grief. And, of course, lovesickness, which Romeo's clearly got bad. He says a bunch of depressing stuff and then tries to leave.
I am not here. In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman. Benvolio tells Romeo to wait up—he'll walk with him. When Benvolio asks who it is that Romeo's so in love with, Romeo reveals that it is Seeing as how this is heteronormative 16th century Verona, Benvolio pretty much had that part figured out. Romeo narrows it down by adding that she's pretty.
O, she is rich in beauty, only poor That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. She is too fair, too wise, wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair. Romeo reveals that his unavailable crush has taken a vow of chastity and he boo-hoos about the fact that the still unnamed beautiful girl will never have any beautiful children. It also means that Romeo will never get to make out with her in the back seat of his car, if you know what we mean.
Brain Snack: Romeo has been acting like a typical "Petrarchan lover" in this scene.
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