Lord Montague

Warwick
I wonder how the King escaped our hands.
York
While we pursued the horsemen of the north,
He slyly stole away and left his men;
Whereat the great lord of Northumberland,
Whose warlike ears could never brook retreat,
Cheered up the drooping army; and himself,
Lord Clifford, and Lord Stafford, all abreast,
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Lady Montague
O, where is Romeo? Saw you him today?
Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
Benvolio
Madam, an hour before the worshiped sun
Peered forth the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drove me to walk abroad,
Where underneath the grove of sycamore
That westward rooteth from this city side,
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Prince
Benvolio, who began this bloody fray?
Benvolio
Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo’s hand did slay—
Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urged withal
Your high displeasure.

Let Romeo hence in haste,
Else, when he is found, that hour is his last.

All this utterèd
With gentle breath,
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Prince
What misadventure is so early up
That calls our person from our morning rest?
  Enter Capulet and Lady Capulet.
Capulet
What should it be that is so shrieked abroad?
Lady Capulet
O, the people in the street cry “Romeo,”
Some “Juliet,” and some “Paris,” and all run
With open outcry toward our monument.
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Where be these enemies?—Capulet, Montague,
See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love,Paradox
And I, for winking at your discords too,
Have lost a brace of kinsmen. All are punished.

See what a scourge is laid upon your hate,
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love

Capulet
O brother Montague,
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