All of Shakespeare’s plays.
Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here,
Shalt with him hence.
I am for you.
What wouldst thou have with me?
Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries
That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw.
Romeo, the hate I bear thee can afford
No better term than this,--thou art a villain.
Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man.
Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,--
You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you
will give me occasion.
Follow me close, for I will speak to them.
Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you.
Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting
Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.
I will withdraw: but this intrusion shall
Now seeming sweet convert to bitter gall.
Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.
It fits, when such a villain is a guest:
I'll not endure him.
'Tis he, that villain Romeo.
Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe,
A villain that is hither come in spite,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.
This, by his voice, should be a Montague.
Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face,
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,
To strike him dead, I hold it not a ...
What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word,
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:
Have at thee, coward!
What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
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