1 O Tybalt, Tybalt, the best friend I had.
2 Here's one, a friend, and one that knows you well.
3 Feeling so the loss, I cannot choose but ever weep the friend.
4 Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends, And there an end.
5 So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend Which you weep for.
6 The law that threaten'd death becomes thy friend, And turns it to exile; there art thou happy.
7 Not Romeo, Prince, he was Mercutio's friend; His fault concludes but what the law should end, The life of Tybalt.
8 The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law; The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it and take this.
9 And you be mine, I'll give you to my friend; And you be not, hang, beg, starve, die in the streets, For by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good.
10 But look thou stay not till the watch be set, For then thou canst not pass to Mantua; Where thou shalt live till we can find a time To blaze your marriage, reconcile your friends, Beg pardon of the Prince, and call thee back With twenty hundred thousand times more joy Than thou went'st forth in lamentation.