1 Enter Prince Escalus, with Attendants.
2 Enter three or four Citizens with clubs.
3 Well, Susan is with God; She was too good for me.
4 Enter Sampson and Gregory armed with swords and bucklers.
5 I do but keep the peace, put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me.
6 Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benvolio, with five or six Maskers; Torch-bearers and others.
7 She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; For beauty starv'd with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all posterity.
8 Go thither and with unattainted eye, Compare her face with some that I shall show, And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.
9 Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men I will be civil with the maids, I will cut off their heads.
10 From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life; Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows Doth with their death bury their parents' strife.
11 For this time all the rest depart away: You, Capulet, shall go along with me, And Montague, come you this afternoon, To know our farther pleasure in this case, To old Free-town, our common judgement-place.
12 She will not stay the siege of loving terms Nor bide th'encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O she's rich in beauty, only poor That when she dies, with beauty dies her store.
13 I drew to part them, in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar'd, Which, as he breath'd defiance to my ears, He swung about his head, and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal, hiss'd him in scorn.
14 Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning, One pain is lessen'd by another's anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another's languish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die.
15 Tut, you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself pois'd with herself in either eye: But in that crystal scales let there be weigh'd Your lady's love against some other maid That I will show you shining at this feast, And she shall scant show well that now shows best.
16 The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage, Which, but their children's end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage; The which, if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
17 Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our streets, And made Verona's ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker'd with peace, to part your canker'd hate.
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