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 run into them we won't escape a fight, because in this hot weather the blood runs wild.

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 worked on him, draws it on the waiter, when there's really no need at all.

Am I like such a fellow?

Am I like a man like that?

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-headed a fellow as any in Italy — as quickly provoked into a bad mood, and as quickly 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, because one would kill the other. You? Why, you'd pick a fight with a man who has one hair more or one hair less in his beard than you have. You'd pick a fight with a man for cracking nuts, with no other reason than that your own eyes are hazel. What eye but an eye like yours would spot such a grounds for 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 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, any man could buy the outright ownership of my life for an hour and a quarter.

The fee simple! O simple!

Outright ownership! Oh, what a simpleton!

By my head, here comes the Capulets.

I swear by my head, here come the Capulets.

By my heel, I care not.

I swear 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. Good afternoon, gentlemen: 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 sour notes. Here's my fiddle-bow — here's what will make you dance. By 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 place where everyone comes and goes. Either move off to somewhere private and discuss your complaints calmly, or else go your separate ways; here every eye 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 an inch for anyone's pleasure, not I.

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

Well, peace be with you, sir, here comes the man I want.

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's wearing your servant's uniform. Honestly, go ahead of him to the duelling field and he'll follow you; in that sense your honour 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 offer no better word than this: you are a scoundrel.

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 largely excuses the anger that ought to belong to a greeting like that. I am no scoundrel. So goodbye; I can see you don't know me.

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

Boy, that won't excuse the insults 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 insulted you, but love you more than you can imagine, until you learn the reason for my love. And so, good Capulet — a name I hold as precious 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 a calm, dishonourable, disgusting surrender! [He draws.] A straight thrust settles it. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you step over here?

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; that one I mean to help myself to, 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, Benvolio; knock down their weapons. Gentlemen, for shame, stop this outrage. Tybalt, Mercutio, the Prince has expressly forbidden this brawling 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 wounded. A plague on both your houses. I'm finished. Has he gone, and got away without a scratch?

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. Honestly, it's enough. Where's my page? Go, you rascal, fetch a doctor.

Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.

Have courage, man; the wound can't be serious.

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. Ask for me tomorrow, and you'll find me a grave man. I'm finished for this world, I promise you. A plague on both your houses. By 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 food for worms out of me. I've got my wound, and a thorough 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 death wound on my account. My good name is stained by Tybalt's slander — Tybalt, who for an hour now has been my own kinsman. Oh sweet Juliet, your beauty has made me unmanly and softened the steel of my courage in my own 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, splendid Mercutio is dead. That gallant spirit has climbed to the clouds, the spirit that far too soon scorned the earth down 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 starts the sorrow that other days must finish.

Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.

Here comes the raging 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 mercy, and let fire-eyed fury be my guide now! Now, Tybalt, take back that word 'scoundrel' you gave me just now, because Mercutio's soul is only a little way above our heads, waiting for yours to keep it company. Either you or I, or both, must go with him.

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

You miserable boy, you who kept him company here, will go with him from here.

This shall determine that.

This will decide 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's killed. Don't stand there stunned. The Prince will sentence you to death if you're caught. Get out of here, go, away!

O, I am fortune’s fool!

Oh, I'm fortune's plaything!

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 the man run 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 to 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 kinsman, splendid 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 kinsman! Oh, my brother's child! Oh Prince! Oh husband! Oh, the blood of my dear kinsman has been spilled! Prince, if you are just, for blood of ours shed the blood of a Montague. Oh kinsman, kinsman.

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, whom Romeo's hand killed. Romeo spoke politely to him, told him to consider how trivial the quarrel was, and pointed out as well how badly it would displease your highness. All this said with a gentle voice, a calm face, and knees humbly bowed, could make no truce with Tybalt's uncontrollable temper; deaf to peace, he thrusts with his sharp sword at brave Mercutio's chest, and Mercutio, just as hot, turns his own deadly point against his, and with a soldier's contempt beats cold death aside with one hand while with the other he sends it back at Tybalt, whose skill turns it away again. Romeo shouts out, '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 malicious thrust from Tybalt struck the life out of brave Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled. But soon he came back to Romeo, who had only just taken up the thought of revenge, and at it they went 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 for it.

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 could manage was to kill one man. 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; he killed Mercutio. Who must now pay the price for that 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 offence only finished what the law should have finished: 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 at once. I have a stake in the progress of your hatred: my own relative lies bleeding because of your brutal brawls. But I'll punish you with so heavy a fine that you will all regret the loss of mine. I'll be deaf to pleading and excuses; neither tears nor prayers will buy off your offences. So use none. Let Romeo get away quickly, or else, when he's found, that hour will be his last. Carry this body away, and wait on my decision. Mercy only kills more, when it pardons those who kill.