Tybalt, the reason that I have to love thee Doth much excuse the appertaining rage To such a greeting: villain am I none; Therefore farewell; I see thou know’st me not.

Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw.

I do protest, I never injured thee, But love thee better than thou canst devise, Till thou shalt know the reason of my love: And so, good Capulet⁠—which name I tender As dearly as my own⁠—be satisfied.

O calm, dishonourable, vile submission! Alla stoccata carries it away. Draws. Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?