![]() ![]() But by and by comes back to Romeo, Who had but newly entertained revenge, And to ’t they go like lightning, for ere I Could draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain. ![]() 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 that I will have a recheat winded in my forehead or hang my bugle in an invisible baldrick, all women shall 210 pardon me. All this uttered With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bowed, 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. That she brought me up, I likewise give her most humble thanks. Romeo, that spoke him fair, bade him bethink How nice the quarrel was and urged withal Your high displeasure. And this deer, oh world, was your dear.Tybalt here slain, whom Romeo’s hand did slay. ![]() Oh, world, you were the forest to this deer. Here is where you fell, and here your hunters still stand, stained and reddened by your blood. Forgive me, Julius! Here is where you were brought down, like a brave deer surrounded by hunting dogs. If your spirit is looking down upon us now, would it grieve you more than even your death to see your Antony making peace, and shaking the bloody hands of your enemies-most noble enemies!-in the presence of your corpse? If I had as many eyes as you have wounds, and they wept tears as fast as your wounds stream blood, even that would be more becoming than joining your enemies in friendship. ![]() All of you gentlemen, alas, what can I say? Now that we’ve shaken hands, my credibility stands on such slippery ground that you must think me either a coward or a flatterer. Though I shake your hand last, I do not love you the least, good Trebonius. First, Marcus Brutus, I will shake your hand. How like a deer, strucken by many princes, Dost thou here lie! O world, thou wast the forest to this hart, And this indeed, O world, the heart of thee. Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bayed, brave hart Here didst thou fall and here thy hunters stand, Signed in thy spoil, and crimsoned in thy lethe. If then thy spirit look upon us now, Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death To see thy Antony making his peace, Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes- Most noble!-in the presence of thy corse? Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood, It would become me better than to close In terms of friendship with thine enemies. Gentlemen all, alas, what shall I say? My credit now stands on such slippery ground That one of two bad ways you must conceit me, Either a coward or a flatterer -That I did love thee, Caesar, O, ’tis true. Though last, not last in love, yours, good Trebonius. I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke, 180 Fulfill your pleasure. Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand. If I myself, there is no hour so fit 175 As Caesar’s death’s hour, nor no instrument Of half that worth as those your swords, made rich With the most noble blood of all this world. First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you. ![]()
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