Romeo that spoke him fair, bade 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.  
_Lady Capulet._ 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.  
_Prince._ Romeo slew him, he slew Mercutio;  
Who now the price of his dear blood doth owe?  
_Montague._ Not Romeo, prince, he was Mercutio's friend;  
His fault concludes but what the law should end,  
The life of Tybalt.  
_Prince._ 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.  

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