Watch it now
Two households both alike in dignity in fair Verona,
Where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to
new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands
unclean, From forth the fatal loins of these two
foes, A pair of star crossed lovers take their life,
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows doth with
their death, Bury their parents strife. The fearful
passage of their death marked love, And the
continuance of their parents rage, Which but their
children's end not could remove, Is now the two hours
traffic of our stage.
A dog of the house of Capulet moves me!
The quarrel is between our masters.
And us their men.
Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble. And I am a pretty
piece of flesh, I am a pretty piece of Flesh! Here
comes of the house of Capulet!
Quarrel, I will back thee.
Boo! Ah, ha ha. Ooh. Boo! Ha ha ha.
I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to
them, if they bear it.
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
I do bite my thumb, sir!
Do you bite your thumb at us? Sir.
[Aside to GREGORY]
Is the law on our side, if I say ay?
No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I
bite my thumb, sir.
Do you quarrel, sir?
Quarrel sir! no, sir.
If you do, sir, I am for you. I serve as good a man
Here comes our kinsmen say better!
Yes, sir better.
You lie. Draw, if you be men.
Part, fools! you know not what you do. Put up your
What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
I do but keep the peace. Put up thy sword, Or manage
it to part these men with me.
Peace. Peace? I hate the word, As I hate hell, all
Montagues, and thee.
Bang Bang! Bang Bang!
Give me my long sword, ho!
Thou shalt not stir a foot to seek a foe.
Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Throw your
mistemper'd weapons to the ground! On pain of
torture, from those bloody hands Throw your
mistemper'd weapons to the ground! Three civil
brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet,
and Montague, Have thrice disturb'd the quiet of our
streets, If ever you disturb our streets again, Your
lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace.
O, where is Romeo? saw you him to-day? Right glad I
am he was not at this fray.
Madam, underneath a grove of sycamore so early
walking did I see your son.
Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears
augmenting the fresh morning dew.
Away from the light steals home my heavy son, And
private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his
windows, locks far daylight out And makes himself an
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