ROMEO & JULIET. Уильям Шекспир

your passado.

       [They fight.]

       Romeo.

       Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons.—

       Gentlemen, for shame! forbear this outrage!—

       Tybalt,—Mercutio,—the prince expressly hath

       Forbid this bandying in Verona streets.—

       Hold, Tybalt!—good Mercutio!—

       [Exeunt Tybalt with his Partizans.]

       Mercutio.

       I am hurt;—

       A plague o’ both your houses!—I am sped.—

       Is he gone, and hath nothing?

       Benvolio.

       What, art thou hurt?

       Mercutio.

       Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, ‘tis enough.—

       Where is my page?—go, villain, fetch a surgeon.

       [Exit Page.]

       Romeo.

       Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.

       Mercutio. No, ‘tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; but ‘tis enough, ‘twill serve: ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this world.—A plague o’ both your houses!—Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic!—Why the devil came you between us? I was hurt under your arm.

       Romeo.

       I thought all for the best.

       Mercutio.

       Help me into some house, Benvolio,

       Or I shall faint.—A plague o’ both your houses!

       They have made worms’ meat of me:

       I have it, and soundly too.—Your houses!

       [Exit Mercutio and Benvolio.]

       Romeo.

       This gentleman, the prince’s near ally,

       My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt

       In my behalf; my reputation stain’d

       With Tybalt’s slander,—Tybalt, that an hour

       Hath been my kinsman.—O sweet Juliet,

       Thy beauty hath made me effeminate

       And in my temper soften’d valour’s steel.

       [Re-enter Benvolio.]

       Benvolio.

       O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio’s dead!

       That gallant spirit hath aspir’d the clouds,

       Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.

       Romeo.

       This day’s black fate on more days doth depend;

       This but begins the woe others must end.

       Benvolio.

       Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.

       Romeo.

       Alive in triumph! and Mercutio slain!

       Away to heaven respective lenity,

       And fire-ey’d fury be my conduct now!—

       [Re-enter Tybalt.]

       Now, Tybalt, take the ‘villain’ back again

       That late thou gavest me; for Mercutio’s soul

       Is but a little way above our heads,

       Staying for thine to keep him company.

       Either thou or I, or both, must go with him.

       Tybalt.

       Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here,

       Shalt with him hence.

       Romeo.

       This shall determine that.

       [They fight; Tybalt falls.]

       Benvolio.

       Romeo, away, be gone!

       The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.—

       Stand not amaz’d. The prince will doom thee death

       If thou art taken. Hence, be gone, away!

       Romeo.

       O, I am fortune’s fool!

       Benvolio.

       Why dost thou stay?

       [Exit Romeo.]

       [Enter Citizens, &c.]

       1 Citizen.

       Which way ran he that kill’d Mercutio?

       Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?

       Benvolio.

       There lies that Tybalt.

       1 Citizen. Up, sir, go with me; I charge thee in the prince’s name obey.

       [Enter Prince, attended; Montague, Capulet, their Wives, and others.]

       Prince.

       Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

       Benvolio.

       O noble prince. I can discover all

       The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl:

       There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,

       That slew thy kinsman, brave Mercutio.

       Lady Capulet.

       Tybalt, my cousin! O my brother’s child!—

       O prince!—O husband!—O, the blood is spill’d

       Of my dear kinsman!—Prince, as thou art true,

       For blood of ours shed blood of Montague.—

       O cousin, cousin!

       Prince.

       Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?

       Benvolio.

       Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo’s hand did slay;

       Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink

       How nice the quarrel was, and urg’d withal

       Your high displeasure.—All this,—uttered

       With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow’d,—

       Could not take truce with the unruly spleen

       Of Tybalt, deaf to peace, but that he tilts

       With piercing steel at bold Mercutio’s breast;

       Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,

       And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats

       Cold death aside, and with the other sends

       It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity

       Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud,

       ‘Hold, friends! friends, part!’ and swifter than his tongue,

       His agile arm beats down their fatal points,

       And ‘twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm

       An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life

       Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled:

       But by-and-by comes back to Romeo,

       Who had but newly entertain’d revenge,

       And to’t they go like lightning; for, ere I

       Could draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain;

       And as he fell did Romeo turn and fly.

       This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.

       Lady Capulet.