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| O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Alla stoccata carries it away. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk? | |
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| What wouldst thou have with me? | |
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| Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out. | |
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They fight- and Tybalt stabs Mercutio, then runs away.
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| I am hurt. A plague o' both your houses! I am sped. Is he gone, and hath nothing? | |
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