_Ben: Tibalt_ heere slaine whom R_omeos_ hand did slay. R_omeo_ who spake him fayre bid him bethinke How nice the quarrell was. But _Tibalt_ still persisting in his wrong, 120 The stout _Mercutio_ drewe to calme the storme, Which R_omeo_ seeing cal'd stay Gentlemen, And on me cry'd, who drew to part their strife, And with his agill arme yong R_omeo_, As fast as tung crydepeace, sought peace to make. 125 While they were enterchanging thrusts and blows, Vnder yong R_omeos_ laboring arme to part, The furious _Tybalt_ cast an enuious thrust, That rid the life of stout _Mercutio_. With that he fled, but presently return'd, 130 And with his rapier braued R_omeo_: That had but newly entertain'd reuenge. And ere I could draw forth my rapyer To part their furie, downe did _Tybalt_ fall, And this way R_omeo_ fled. 135 _Mo_: He is a _Mountagew_ and speakes partiall, Some twentie of them fought in this blacke strife: And all those twenty could but kill one life. I doo intreate sweete Prince thoult iustice giue, _Romeo_ slew _Tybalt, Romeo_ may not liue. 140 _Prin_: And for that offence Immediately we doo exile him hence. I haue an interest in your hates proceeding, My blood for your rude braules doth lye a bleeding. But Ile amerce you with so large a fine, 145 That you shall all repent the losse of mine. I will be deafe to pleading and excuses, Nor teares nor prayers shall purchase for abuses. Pittie shall dwell and gouerne with vs still: Mercie to all but murdrers, pardoning none that kill. 150 _Exeunt omnes._ [Sidenote: [SC. XII.]] _Enter Iuliet._ _Iul_: Gallop apace you fierie footed steedes To _Phoebus_ mansion, such a Waggoner As _Phaeton_, would quickly bring you thether, And send in cloudie night immediately. _Enter Nurse wringing her hands, with the ladder_ _of cordes in her lap._ But how now Nurse: O Lord, why lookst thou sad? 5 What hast thou there, the cordes? _Nur_: I, I, the cordes: alacke we are vndone, We are vndone, Ladie we are vndone. _Iul_: What diuell art thou that torments me thus? _Nurs_: Alack the day, hees dead, hees dead, hees dead. 10 _Jul_: This torture should be roard in dismall hell. Can heauens be so enuious? _Nur: Romeo_ can if heauens cannot. I saw the wound, I saw it with mine eyes. God saue the sample, on his manly breast: 15 A bloodie coarse, a piteous bloodie coarse, All pale as ashes, I swounded at the sight.