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Greg. That fhews thee a weak flave; for the weakest goes to the wall.
Sam. True, and therefore women, being the weakeft, are ever thruft to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thruft his maids to the wall.
Greg. The quarrel is between our masters, and us their men.
Sam. 'Tis all one, I will fhew my felf a tyrant: when I have fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids, and cut off their heads.
Greg. The heads of the maids?
Sam. Ay, the heads of the maids, or the maidenheads, take it in what fenfe thou wilt.
Greg. They must take it in fenfe, that feel it.
Sam. Me they fhall feel, while I am able to ftand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.
Greg. 'Tis well thou art not fish: if thou hadft, thou hadft been Poor John. Draw thy tool, here comes of the Houfe of the Montagues.
Enter Abram and Balthafar.
Sam. My naked weapon is out; quarrel, I will back thee.
Greg. How, turn thy back and run ?
Sam. Fear me not.
Greg. No, marry: I fear thee!
Sam. Let us take the law of our fides: let them begin. 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, Sir? Sam. I do bite my thumb, Sir.
Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, Sir?
thumb at you,
Sam. No, Sir, I do not bite 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 a
man, as you.
Greg. Say, better here comes one of my mafter's kinfmen.
Sam. Yes, better, Sir
Abr. You lie.
Sam. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy fwashing blow.
[They fight Ben. Part, fools, put up your fwords, you know not what you do.
Tyb. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
Ben. I do but keep the peace; put up thy fword,
Tyb. What drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the
As I hate hell, all Montagues and thee:
Enter three or four citizens with clubs.
Offic. Clubs, bills, and partifans! strike! beat them down!
Down with the Capulets, down with the Montagues!
Enter old Capulet in his gown, and lady Capulet. Cap. What noife is this? give me my long fword, ho! La. Cap. A crutch, a crutch: - why call you for
Cap. My fword, I fay: old Montague is come,
Enter old Montague, and Lady Montague. Mon. Thou villain, Capulet
La. Mon, Thou shalt not ftir a foot to feek a foe.
Hold me not, let
Enter Prince with attendants.
Prin. Rebellious Subjects, enemies to peace,
Ben. Here were the fervants of your adversary,
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 Romea! Saw you him to day?
Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd Sun
Mon. Many a morning hath he there been seen
Ben. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
(1) As is the Bud, bit with an envious Worm,
Ere he can fpread his fweet wings to the Air,
Could we but learn from whence his forrows grow,
Ben. See, where he comes: fo pleafe you, ftep afide, I'll know his grievance, or be much deny'd.
Mon. I would, thou wert fo happy by thy ftay To hear true fhrift. Come, Madam, let's away. [Exe. 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 fadnefs lengthens Romeo's hours? Rom. Not having That, which, having, makes them fhort.
Ben. In love?
Ben. Of love?
Rom. Out of her favour, where I am in love. Ben. Alas, that love, fo gentle in his view, Should be fo tyrannous and rough in proof!
Rom. Alas, that love, whofe view is muffled ftill, Should without eyes fee path-ways to his will! Where fhall we dine? O me!
What fray was
Or dedicate his Beauty to the Same.] To the fame? - Sure, all the Lovers of Shakespeare and Poetry will agree, that this is a very idle, dragging Parapleromatic, as the Grammarians ftyle it. But our Author generally in his Similies is accurate in the cloathing of them, and therefore, I believe, would not have Overcharg'd this fo infipidly. 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 obfolete Spelling, Sunne; which brings it nearer to the Traces of the corrupted Text,