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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.
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.
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.
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.