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Scene 1. Verona. A Public Place. Enter Benvolio
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| Part, fools! Put up your swords; you know not what you do. | |
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Beats down their swords. Enter Tybalt
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| What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death. | |
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| I do but keep the peace: put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me. | |
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| What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and...uh...LINE! | |
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