Romeo and Juliet, Act 3, Scene 1

I pray thee, good Mercutio, let’s retire: The day is hot, the Capulets abroad, And if we meet, we shall not scape a brawl, For now these hot days, is the mad blood stirring.

Please, good Mercutio, let's go home. The day is hot, the Capulets are out and about, and if we meet them we won't escape a fight, because in this hot weather the mad blood is stirring.

Thou art like one of these fellows that, when he enters the confines of a tavern, claps me his sword upon the table, and says ‘God send me no need of thee!’ and by the operation of the second cup draws him on the drawer, when indeed there is no need.

You're like one of those men who, the moment he steps inside a tavern, slaps his sword down on the table and says, "God grant I have no need of you!" and then, once the second cup has done its work, draws it on the waiter, when there's really no need at all.

Am I like such a fellow?

Am I like a man of that kind?

Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack in thy mood as any in Italy; and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved.

Come on, come on, when your temper's up you're as hot a fellow as any in Italy: as quick to be provoked into a bad mood, and as quick, once in a bad mood, to be provoked.

And what to?

And provoked to what?

Nay, an there were two such, we should have none shortly, for one would kill the other. Thou? Why, thou wilt quarrel with a man that hath a hair more or a hair less in his beard than thou hast. Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, having no other reason but because thou hast hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spy out such a quarrel? Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat, and yet thy head hath been beaten as addle as an egg for quarrelling. Thou hast quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he hath wakened thy dog that hath lain asleep in the sun. Didst thou not fall out with a tailor for wearing his new doublet before Easter? with another for tying his new shoes with an old riband? And yet thou wilt tutor me from quarrelling!

Well, if there were two men like you, we'd soon have none at all, because one would kill the other. You? Why, you'd pick a quarrel with a man because he has a hair more or a hair less in his beard than you do. You'd pick a quarrel with a man for cracking nuts, for no other reason than that you have hazel eyes. What eye but such an eye would spot such a quarrel? Your head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of food, and yet your head has been beaten as scrambled as an egg for quarrelling. You've quarrelled with a man for coughing in the street, because he woke up your dog that was lying asleep in the sun. Didn't you fall out with a tailor for wearing his new jacket before Easter? And with another for tying his new shoes with an old ribbon? And yet you want to lecture me about quarrelling!

And I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, any man should buy the fee simple of my life for an hour and a quarter.

If I were as ready to quarrel as you are, anyone could buy the outright ownership of my life for an hour and a quarter.

The fee simple! O simple!

The outright ownership! Oh, how simple!

By my head, here comes the Capulets.

By my head, here come the Capulets.

By my heel, I care not.

By my heel, I don't care.

Follow me close, for I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good-den: a word with one of you.

Stay close behind me, because I'm going to speak to them. Gentlemen, good afternoon: a word with one of you.

And but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it a word and a blow.

Only one word with one of us? Pair it with something; make it a word and a blow.

You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, and you will give me occasion.

You'll find me ready enough for that, sir, if you give me a reason.

Could you not take some occasion without giving?

Couldn't you take a reason without being given one?

Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo.

Mercutio, you keep company with Romeo.

Consort? What, dost thou make us minstrels? And thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords. Here’s my fiddlestick, here’s that shall make you dance. Zounds, consort!

Company? What, are you making musicians of us? If you make musicians of us, expect to hear nothing but discords. Here's my fiddlestick, here's what will make you dance. God's wounds — company!

We talk here in the public haunt of men. Either withdraw unto some private place, And reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.

We're talking here in a public place where men gather. Either go off to some private spot and discuss your grievances calmly, or else leave; here everyone is staring at us.

Men’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze. I will not budge for no man’s pleasure, I.

Men's eyes were made for looking, so let them stare. I won't move for any man's pleasure, not I.

Well, peace be with you, sir, here comes my man.

Well, peace be with you, sir, here comes my man.

But I’ll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery. Marry, go before to field, he’ll be your follower; Your worship in that sense may call him man.

But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wears your uniform. Indeed, go ahead of him to the duelling field and he'll follow you; in that sense your worship may call him your man.

Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford No better term than this: Thou art a villain.

Romeo, the love I have for you can come up with no better name than this: you are a villain.

Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting. Villain am I none; Therefore farewell; I see thou know’st me not.

Tybalt, the reason I have to love you goes a long way to excuse the rage that ought to follow such a greeting. I am no villain. So goodbye; I see you don't know me.

Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me, therefore turn and draw.

Boy, this won't excuse the injuries you've done me, so turn around and draw your sword.

I do protest I never injur’d thee, But love thee better than thou canst devise Till thou shalt know the reason of my love. And so good Capulet, which name I tender As dearly as mine own, be satisfied.

I swear I never injured you, but love you better than you can imagine, until you learn the reason for my love. And so, good Capulet — a name I hold as dear as my own — be content.

O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! [Draws.] Alla stoccata carries it away. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?

Oh, what calm, dishonourable, disgusting surrender! [He draws his sword.] Alla stoccata wins the day. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you step aside with me?

What wouldst thou have with me?

What do you want with me?

Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and, as you shall use me hereafter, dry-beat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pilcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.

Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; I intend to help myself to that one, and then, depending on how you treat me after this, thrash the other eight out of you. Will you pull your sword out of its scabbard by the ears? Hurry up, or mine will be about your ears before yours is out.

[Drawing.] I am for you.

[Drawing his sword.] I'm ready for you.

Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up.

Kind Mercutio, put your sword away.

Come, sir, your passado.

Come on, sir, let's see your lunge.

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!

Draw your sword, Benvolio; knock down their weapons. Gentlemen, for shame, stop this outrage! Tybalt, Mercutio, the Prince has expressly forbidden this fighting in the streets of Verona. Stop, Tybalt! Good Mercutio!

I am hurt. A plague o’ both your houses. I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing?

I'm hurt. A plague on both your houses. I'm finished. Has he gone, and got nothing himself?

What, art thou hurt?

What, are you hurt?

Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, ’tis enough. Where is my page? Go villain, fetch a surgeon.

Yes, yes, a scratch, a scratch. Indeed, it's enough. Where's my page? Go, you rascal, fetch a surgeon.

Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.

Be brave, man; the wound can't be much.

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.

No, it's not as deep as a well, nor as wide as a church door, but it's enough, it'll do the job. Ask for me tomorrow and you'll find me a grave man. I'm finished off, I promise you, as far as this world goes. A plague on both your houses. God's wounds — a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! A boaster, a rogue, a villain, who fights by the arithmetic book! — Why the devil did you come between us? I was wounded under your arm.

I thought all for the best.

I meant it all for the best.

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!

Help me into some house, Benvolio, or I'll faint. A plague on both your houses. They've made worms' food of me. I've got my wound, and a solid one too. Your houses!

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 cousin. O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate And in my temper soften’d valour’s steel.

This gentleman, the Prince's close relative, my own true friend, has taken his fatal wound on my behalf. My reputation is stained by Tybalt's insult — Tybalt, who for an hour has been my cousin. Oh sweet Juliet, your beauty has made me womanish, and softened the steel of my courage in my nature.

O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio’s dead, That gallant spirit hath aspir’d the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.

Oh Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio is dead. That gallant spirit has climbed up to the clouds, the spirit that far too soon scorned the earth here.

This day’s black fate on mo days doth depend; This but begins the woe others must end.

This day's black destiny hangs over more days to come; this only begins the sorrow that other days must finish.

Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.

Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.

Again in triumph, and Mercutio slain? Away to heaven respective lenity, And fire-ey’d fury be my conduct now! Now, Tybalt, take the ‘villain’ back again That late thou gav’st 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.

Back in triumph, and Mercutio killed? Away to heaven with considerate mildness, and let fire-eyed fury guide me now! Now, Tybalt, take back that word "villain" you gave me a moment ago, for Mercutio's soul is only a little way above our heads, waiting for yours to keep it company. Either you or I, or both of us, must go with him.

Thou wretched boy, that didst consort him here, Shalt with him hence.

You wretched boy, you who kept company with him here, will go away with him.

This shall determine that.

This will settle that.

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, get away, go! The citizens are roused, and Tybalt is dead. Don't stand there stunned. The Prince will sentence you to death if you're caught. Away, go, get out!

O, I am fortune’s fool!

Oh, I'm fortune's fool!

Why dost thou stay?

Why are you still standing here?

Which way ran he that kill’d Mercutio? Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he?

Which way did he run, the man who killed Mercutio? Tybalt, that murderer, which way did he run?

There lies that Tybalt.

That Tybalt is lying right there.

Up, sir, go with me. I charge thee in the Prince’s name obey.

Get up, sir, come with me. I order you in the Prince's name: obey.

Where are the vile beginners of this fray?

Where are the vile men who started this fight?

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.

Oh noble Prince, I can reveal the whole unlucky course of this deadly brawl. There lies the man, killed by young Romeo, who killed your relative, brave Mercutio.

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.

Tybalt, my cousin! Oh, my brother's child! Oh Prince! Oh husband! Oh, the blood of my dear relative is spilled! Prince, as you are just, for blood of ours shed the blood of a Montague. Oh cousin, cousin.

Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?

Benvolio, who started this bloody fight?

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.

Tybalt, lying dead here, killed by Romeo's hand. Romeo spoke politely to him, told him to think how trivial the quarrel was, and warned him besides of your great displeasure. All this, delivered with a gentle voice, a calm look and humbly bent knees, could not make peace with Tybalt's ungovernable temper — he was deaf to peace, and instead thrusts with piercing steel at bold Mercutio's chest. Mercutio, just as hot, turns his own deadly point against Tybalt's, and with a soldier's contempt beats cold death aside with one hand and with the other sends it back at Tybalt, whose skill throws it back again. Romeo cries out loudly, "Stop, friends! Friends, separate!" and quicker than his tongue, his nimble arm strikes down their deadly points and he rushes between them. Under his arm a spiteful thrust from Tybalt struck the life out of brave Mercutio, and then Tybalt ran off. But soon he comes back to Romeo, who had only just taken up thoughts of revenge, and they go at each other like lightning; for before I could draw my sword to separate them, brave Tybalt was killed. And as he fell, Romeo turned and ran. This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.

He is a kinsman to the Montague. Affection makes him false, he speaks not true. Some twenty of them fought in this black strife, And all those twenty could but kill one life. I beg for justice, which thou, Prince, must give; Romeo slew Tybalt, Romeo must not live.

He is a relative of the Montagues. Loyalty makes him lie; he isn't telling the truth. About twenty of them fought in this black struggle, and all those twenty managed to kill only one life. I beg for justice, which you, Prince, must give. Romeo killed Tybalt; Romeo must not live.

Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio. Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?

Romeo killed him, and he killed Mercutio. Who now owes the price of his precious blood?

Not Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio’s friend; His fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt.

Not Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio's friend. His fault only brought about what the law should have ended: the life of Tybalt.

And for that offence Immediately we do exile him hence. I have an interest in your hate’s proceeding, My blood for your rude brawls doth lie a-bleeding. But I’ll amerce you with so strong a fine That you shall all repent the loss of mine. I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses. Therefore use none. Let Romeo hence in haste, Else, when he is found, that hour is his last. Bear hence this body, and attend our will. Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill.

And for that offence we exile him from here immediately. I have a stake in the workings of your hatred: my own blood lies bleeding because of your violent brawls. But I'll penalise you with so heavy a fine that you'll all regret the loss I've suffered. I will be deaf to pleading and excuses; neither tears nor prayers will buy off your wrongdoing. So don't use any. Let Romeo leave here in haste, or else, when he is found, that hour will be his last. Carry this body away, and wait on our decision. Mercy only murders, when it pardons those who kill.