Gentlemen, good-den: a word with one of you.
MERCUTIO.
And but one word with one of us? Couple it with something; make it a word and a blow.
TYBALT.
You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, and you will give me occasion.
MERCUTIO.
Could you not take some occasion without giving?
TYBALT.
Mercutio, thou consortest with Romeo.
MERCUTIO.
Consort? What, dost thou make us minstrels? And thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but discords. Here’s my fiddlestick, here’s that shall make you dance. Zounds, consort!
BENVOLIO.
We talk here in the public haunt of men.
Either withdraw unto some private place,
And reason coldly of your grievances,
Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us.
MERCUTIO. Men’s eyes were made to look, and let them gaze.