|
 |
|
| Enter BENVOLIO and
MERCUTIO |
|
| BENVOLIO and
MERCUTIO enter. |
|
| | MERCUTIO |
| |
Where the devil should this Romeo be? |
| |
Came he not home tonight? |
|
| MERCUTIO |
|
Where the devil can Romeo be? Didn't he come home last
night? |
|
| | BENVOLIO |
| |
Not to his father's. I spoke with his man. |
|
| BENVOLIO |
|
Not to his father's house. I asked a servant. |
|
| | MERCUTIO |
| |
Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, |
| 5 |
Torments him so, that he will sure run mad. |
|
| MERCUTIO |
|
That fair-skinned, hard-hearted hussy, Rosaline is going to
torment him until he goes insane. |
|
| | BENVOLIO |
| |
Tybalt, the kinsman to old Capulet, |
| |
Hath sent a letter to his father's house. |
|
| BENVOLIO |
|
Tybalt, old Capulet's nephew, has sent a letter to
Romeo's father's house. |
|
| | MERCUTIO |
| |
A challenge, on my life. |
|
| MERCUTIO |
|
I bet it's a challenge. |
|
| | BENVOLIO |
| |
Romeo will answer it. |
|
| BENVOLIO |
|
Romeo will answer the challenge. |
|
| | MERCUTIO |
| 10 |
Any man that can write may answer a letter. |
|
| MERCUTIO |
|
Any man who knows how to write can answer a letter. |
|
| | BENVOLIO |
| |
Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares,
being dared. |
|
| BENVOLIO |
|
No, Romeo will respond to the letter's writer, telling
him whether he accepts the challenge. |
|
| | MERCUTIO |
| |
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? |
|
| MERCUTIO |
|
Oh, poor Romeo! He's already dead. He's been
stabbed by a white girl's black eye. He's been cut
through the ear with a love song. The center of his heart has been
split by blind Cupid's arrow. Is he man enough at this
point to face off with Tybalt? |
|
| | BENVOLIO |
| |
Why, what is Tybalt? |
|
| BENVOLIO |
|
Why, what's Tybalt's story? |
|
| | MERCUTIO |
| |
More than Prince of Cats. Oh, he's the courageous captain
of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time,
distance, and proportion. He rests his minim rests—one,
two, and the third in your bosom. The very butcher of a silk button,
a duelist, a duelist, a gentleman of the very first house of the
first and second cause. Ah, the immortal
passado, the
punto
reverso,
the hai! |
|
| MERCUTIO |
|
He's tougher than the Prince of Cats
. He does everything by the book. He fights like you sing at
a recital, paying attention to time, distance, and proportion. He
takes the proper breaks: one, two, and the third in your heart.
He's the butcher who can hit any silk button. A master of
duels. He's a gentleman from the finest school of fencing.
He knows how to turn any argument into a swordfight. He knows
passado—the forward
thrust—the
punto reverso—the
backhand thrust—and the
hai—the thrust that goes
straight through. |
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