Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO

Where the devil should this Romeo be?
Came he not home to-night?

Not to his father's; I spoke with his man.

Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline.
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.

Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to his father's house.

A challenge, on my life.

Romeo will answer it.

Any man that can write may answer a letter.

Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he
dares, being dared.

Alas poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabbed with a
white wench's black eye; shot through the ear with a
love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the
blind bow-boy's butt-shaft: and is he a man to
encounter Tybalt?

Why, what is Tybalt?

More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he is
the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as
you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and
proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and
the third in your bosom: the very butcher of a silk
button, a duellist, a duellist; a gentleman of the
very first house, of the first and second cause:
ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso! the
hai!

The what?

The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting
fantasticoes; these new tuners of accents! 'By Jesu,
a very good blade! a very tall man! a very good
whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing,
grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted with
these strange flies, these fashion-mongers, these
perdona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form,
that they cannot at ease on the old bench? O, their
bones, their bones!

Enter ROMEO

Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.

Without his roe, like a dried herring: flesh, flesh,
how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers
that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a
kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to
be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy;
Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey
eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior
Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation
to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit
fairly last night.

Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?

The ship, sir, the slip; can you not conceive?

Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in
such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.

That's as much as to say, such a case as yours
constrains a man to bow in the hams.

Meaning, to court'sy.

Thou hast most kindly hit it.

A most courteous exposition.

Nay, I am the very pink of courtesy.

Pink for flower.

Right.

Why, then is my pump well flowered.

Well said: follow me this jest now till thou hast
worn out thy pump, that when the single sole of it
is worn, the jest may remain after the wearing sole singular.

O single-soled jest, solely singular for the
singleness.

Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint.

Switch and spurs, switch and spurs; or I'll cry a match.

Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have
done, for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of
thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five:
was I with you there for the goose?

Thou wast never with me for any thing when thou wast
not there for the goose.

I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.

Nay, good goose, bite not.

Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most
sharp sauce.

And is it not well served in to a sweet goose?

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