Schließen
Good King of Cats, nothing but one of your
Nine lives. That I mean to make bold withal and as you shall use m here-after, dry beat the rest of the Eight. WIll you pluck you sword out of his pilcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out.
O noble Prince, I can discover all
The unlucky manage of this fatal brawl.
There lies the man, slain by young Romeo,
that slew thy kinsman, fine Mercutio
Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds,
Towards Phoebus' lodging! Such a wagoner
As Phaeton would whip you to the west
And bring in cloudy night immediately
'Tis torture, and not mercy. Heaven is here, Where Juliet lives; and every day cat and dog and little mouse, every unworthy thing, Live here in heaven and may look on her; But Romeo may not
A plague a both your houses!
They have made worms' meat of me. I have it, and soundly too. Your houses!
He is kinsman to the Montague;
Affection makes him false, he speaks not true some twenty of them fought in this black strife. And all those twenty could be kill one life. I beg for justice, which thou, Prince, must give. Romeo slew Tybalt: Romeo must not live.
God's bread! It makes me mad.
Day, night; hour, tide, time; work, play;
Alone in company; still my care hath been
To have her matched, and having now provided a gentlemen of noble parentage.
