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ACT ONE
Scene One
Scorching daylight. Verona street scene. Noise. Movement. Chaos.
Two people compete to secure a café table. Everyone and everything stops.
BALTHASAR.
Do you bite your thumb at me?
SAMPSON.
I do bite my thumb.
BALTHASAR.
Do you bite your thumb at me?
SAMPSON.
No, I do not bite my thumb at you, but I bite my thumb.
Face-off.
BALTHASAR.
You lie!
The fight kicks off. Chaos. Thrown furniture. Broken glass. Knives. Chains. Everyone caught up. Men, women, old, young.
BENVOLIO (enters).
Part, fools!
You know not what you do!
TYBALT (enters, to BENVOLIO).
What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio. Look upon thy death!
(Draws his sword.)
BENVOLIO.
I do but keep the peace.
TYBALT.
What, here, and talk of peace? I hate the word,
As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee!
Have at thee, coward!
They fight.
Enter PRINCE.
PRINCE.
Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace,
Profaners of this neighbour-stainèd steel –
Will they not hear? – What, ho! You men, you beasts,
That quench the fire of your pernicious rage
With purple fountains issuing from your veins!
On pain of torture, from those bloody hands
Throw your mistempered weapons to the ground,
And hear the sentence of your movèd Prince!
Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word
By thee, Sir Capulet, and Montague,
Have thrice disturbed the quiet of our streets.
If ever you disturb our streets again,
Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace!
For this time, all the rest depart away.
You, Capulet, shall go along with me,
And Montague, come you this afternoon,
Once more, on pain of death, all you depart!
All exit but LORD and LADY MONTAGUE and BENVOLIO.
LADY MONTAGUE.
O, where is Romeo? Saw you him today?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
BENVOLIO.
Madam, an hour before the worshipped sun
Peered forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drove me to walk abroad,
Where, underneath the grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth from the city’s side,
So early walking did I see your son.
Towards him I made, but he was ’ware of me
And stole into the covert of the wood.
MONTAGUE.
Many a morning hath he there been seen,
With tears augmenting the fresh morning dew,
Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs.
But all so soon as the all-cheering sun
Should in the furthest east begin to draw
The shady curtains from Aurora’s bed.
LADY MONTAGUE.
Away from light steals home my heavy son,
And private in his chamber pens himself.
MONTAGUE.
Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out,
And makes himself an artificial night.
Black and portentous must this humour prove,
Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
BENVOLIO.
My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
MONTAGUE.
I neither know it nor can learn of him.
BENVOLIO.
Have you importuned him by any means?
MONTAGUE.
Both by myself and many other friends.
But he, his own affections’ counsellor,
Is to himself – I will not say how true –
LADY MONTAGUE.
But to himself so secret and so close.
MONTAGUE.
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow,
We would as willingly give cure as know.
ROMEO enters.
BENVOLIO.
See where he comes. So please you, step aside.
I’ll know his grievance or be much denied.
They exit.
Good morrow, cousin.
ROMEO.
Is the day so young?
BENVOLIO.
But new struck nine.
ROMEO.
Ay me, sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?
BENVOLIO.
It was. What sadne...
