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Scalus, Prince of Verona.
Paris, a young Nobleman in Love with Juliet,
mies to each other.
lations to Capulet, Maskers, Guards, and other
The SCENE, in the beginning of the Fifth A&t ,
is in Mantua ; during all the rest of the Play, in and near Verona.
Enter Sampson and Gregory, with Swords and Bucklers.
Greg. No, for then we should be Colliers.
Sam. I strike quickly, being mov'd.
Greg. To move, is to stir; and to be valiant, is to stand : Therefore, if thou art moy'd, thou runn'st away.
Sam. A Dog of that House shall move me to stand :
goes to the
Sam. True, and therefore Women, being the weakest Vessels, are ever thrust to the Wall : therefore I will pulla Mountague's Men from the Wall, and thrust his Maids to the Wall.
Greg. The Quarrel is between our Masters, and us their Men.
Sam. 'Tis all one, I will fhew my self a Tyrant: when I have fought with the Men, I will be civil with the Maids, and cut off their Heads.
Greg. The Heads of the Maids?
Sam. Ay, the Heads of the Maids, or their Maiden-heads, Take it in what sense thou wilt.
Greg. They must take it in sense that feel it.
Sam. Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: And 'tis known I am a pretty piece of Flesh.
Greg. 'Tis well thou art not Fish : if thou hadst, thou hadft been Poor John. Draw thy Tool, here comes of the House of the Mountagues.
Enter Abram and Balthasar. 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 disgrace to them, if they bear it. Abr. Do
bite your Thumb at us, Sir ?
Sam. No, Sir, I do not bite my Thumb at you, Şir: bue I bite my Thumb, Sir.
Greg. Do you quarrel, Şir?
Man as you.
i Abr. No better? Sam. Well, Sir.
Enter Benvolio. Greg. Say better : htre comes one of my Master's Kinsmen. Sam. Yes, better. Abr. You Lie.
Sam. Draw, if you be Men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow.
[They fight. Ben. Part, Fools, put up your Swords, you know not what you do.
Enter Tybalt. 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 Sword,
Tyb. What draw, and talk of Peace? I hate the word
Enter old Capulet in his Gown, and Lady Capulet. Cap. What noise is this? Give me my long Sword, ho? La. Cap. A Crutch, a Crutch: why call you for a Sword?
Cap. A Sword, I say : Old Mountague is comé, And Apurishes his Blade in spight of me.
Enter old Mountague and Lady Mountague.
Enter Prince with Attendants.
To wield old Partisans, in Hands as old,
[Exeunt Prince and Capulet, &c. La, Moun. Who set this ancient Quarrel new abroach? Speak, Nephew, were you by when it began?
Ben. Here were the Servants of your Adversary,
La. Moun. O where is Romeo, saw you him to Day? Right glad am I, he was not at this Fray.
Ben. Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd Sun Peer'd forth the golden Window of the East, A troubled Mind drave me to walk abroad, Where underneath the Grove of Sycamour, That Westward rooteth from this City fide, So early walking did I see you 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 felf, Pursued my Humour, not pursuing his, And gladly shund, who gladly fled from me.
Moun. Many a Morning hath he there been fcen With Tears augmenting the fresh Morning Dew, Adding to Clouds, more Clouds, with his deep fighs: But all fo foon as the all-cheering Sun,