1 I mean, if we be in choler, we'll draw.
2 I neither know it nor can learn of him.
3 My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.
4 I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.
5 I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.
6 So please you step aside; I'll know his grievance or be much denied.
7 No sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.
8 I will bite my thumb at them, which is disgrace to them if they bear it.
9 Towards him I made, but he was ware of me, And stole into the covert of the wood.
10 I do but keep the peace, put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me.
11 Here were the servants of your adversary And yours, close fighting ere I did approach.
12 Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and 'tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.'
13 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.
14 True, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague's men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.
15 I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursu'd my humour, not pursuing his, And gladly shunn'd who gladly fled from me.
16 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.
17 Madam, an hour before the worshipp'd sun Peer'd forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad, Where underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from this city side, So early walking did I see your son.
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