O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
     It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
     Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;
     Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
     So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,
     As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
     The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,
     And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
     Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
     For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

TYBALT

     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 sin.

CAPULET

     Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so?

TYBALT

     Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe,
     A villain that is hither come in spite,
     To scorn at our solemnity this night.

CAPULET

     Young Romeo is it?

TYBALT

     'Tis he, that villain Romeo.

CAPULET

     Content thee, gentle coz, let him alone;
     He bears him like a portly gentleman;
     And, to say truth, Verona brags of him
     To be a virtuous and well-govern'd youth:
     I would not for the wealth of all the town
     Here in my house do him disparagement:
     Therefore be patient, take no note of him:
     It is my will, the which if thou respect,
     Show a fair presence and put off these frowns,
     And ill-beseeming semblance for a feast.

TYBALT

     It fits, when such a villain is a guest:
     I'll not endure him.

CAPULET

     He shall be endured:
     What, goodman boy! I say, he shall: go to;
     Am I the master here, or you? go to.
     You'll not endure him! God shall mend my soul!
     You'll make a mutiny among my guests!
     You will set cock-a-hoop! you'll be the man!

TYBALT

     Why, uncle, 'tis a shame.

CAPULET

     Go to, go to;
     You are a saucy boy: is't so, indeed?
     This trick may chance to scathe you, I know what:
     You must contrary me! marry, 'tis time.
     Well said, my hearts! You are a princox; go:
     Be quiet, or--More light, more light! For shame!
     I'll make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts!

TYBALT

     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.

     Exit