Verona. A public place.
Part, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do. Beats down their swords.
What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.
I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me.
What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward! They fight.
Clubs, bills, and partisans! strike! beat them down! Down with the Capulets! down with the Montagues!
My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me.