Romeo and Juliet: Act I Scene I
Original
Modern
Notes
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THE PROLOGUE
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THE PROLOGUE
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[Enter Chorus.]
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[The Chorus enters.]
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CHORUS. Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
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CHORUS. Two households, equal in rank and honour, In fair Verona, where our story is set, From an old grudge erupt into fresh fighting, Where citizens’ blood stains citizens’ hands.
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CHORUS. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; Whose misadventur’d piteous overthrows Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife.
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CHORUS. From the doomed loins of these two enemies A pair of star-crossed lovers take their own lives; Whose unlucky and pitiful downfalls Do, by their deaths, bury their parents’ quarrel.
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CHORUS. The fearful passage of their death-mark’d love, And the continuance of their parents’ rage, Which, but their children’s end, nought could remove, Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage;
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CHORUS. The fearful course of their death-marked love, And the continuing rage of their parents, Which nothing but their children’s deaths could end, Is now the two-hour business of our stage;
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CHORUS. The which, if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
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CHORUS. Which, if you listen with patient ears, Whatever is lacking here, our efforts will try to make good.
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[Exit.]
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[The Chorus exits.]
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ACT I
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ACT I
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SCENE I. A public place.
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SCENE I. A public place.
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[Enter Sampson and Gregory armed with swords and bucklers.]
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[Enter Sampson and Gregory, armed with swords and small shields.]
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SAMPSON. Gregory, on my word, we’ll not carry coals.
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SAMPSON. Gregory, I swear, we won’t put up with insults.
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GREGORY. No, for then we should be colliers.
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GREGORY. No, because then we’d be coal-haulers (dirty low-lives).
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SAMPSON. I mean, if we be in choler, we’ll draw.
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SAMPSON. I mean, if we get angry, we’ll draw our swords.
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GREGORY. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o’ the collar.
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GREGORY. Yes—while you’re alive, keep your neck out of the noose.
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SAMPSON. I strike quickly, being moved.
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SAMPSON. I strike fast when I’m provoked.
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GREGORY. But thou art not quickly moved to strike.
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GREGORY. But you’re not easily provoked into striking.
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SAMPSON. A dog of the house of Montague moves me.
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SAMPSON. Any dog from the Montague household makes me angry.
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GREGORY. To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn’st away.
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GREGORY. “To move” means to shift position, and being brave means standing firm—so if you’re “moved,” you run away.
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SAMPSON. A dog of that house shall move me to stand. I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague’s.
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SAMPSON. A dog from that house will make me stand my ground. I’ll claim the wall side against any Montague man or woman.
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GREGORY. That shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goes to the wall.
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GREGORY. That proves you’re a weakling—because the weakest are forced to the wall.
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SAMPSON. True, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore I will push Montague’s men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.
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SAMPSON. True—and so women, being the weaker vessels, are always shoved to the wall. Therefore I’ll push Montague’s men away from the wall and shove his women against it.
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GREGORY. The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.
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GREGORY. The feud is between our masters; we’re only their servants.
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SAMPSON. ’Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the men I will be civil with the maids, I will cut off their heads.
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SAMPSON. It’s all the same to me—I’ll act like a tyrant. After I’ve fought the men, I’ll be “civil” with the maids: I’ll cut off their heads.
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GREGORY. The heads of the maids?
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GREGORY. The heads of the maids?
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SAMPSON. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense thou wilt.
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SAMPSON. Yes—the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it whichever way you like.
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GREGORY. They must take it in sense that feel it.
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GREGORY. They’ll have to take it in the sense that can feel it.
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SAMPSON. Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and ’tis known I am a pretty piece of flesh.
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SAMPSON. They’ll feel me while I can still stand—and everyone knows I’m a fine piece of flesh.
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GREGORY. ’Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John. Draw thy tool; here comes of the house of Montagues.
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GREGORY. It’s a good thing you’re not a fish—if you were, you’d be dried salted cod. Draw your weapon; here come some of the Montagues.
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[Enter Abram and Balthasar.]
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[Enter Abram and Balthasar.]
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SAMPSON. My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.
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SAMPSON. My bare sword is out. Start the fight—I’ll back you up.
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GREGORY. How? Turn thy back and run?
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GREGORY. What? Turn your back and run?
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SAMPSON. Fear me not.
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SAMPSON. Don’t worry about me.
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GREGORY. No, marry; I fear thee!
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GREGORY. No, by Mary—I do fear you!
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SAMPSON. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.
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SAMPSON. Let’s keep the law on our side; let them start it.
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GREGORY. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.
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GREGORY. I’ll scowl as I walk past, and let them take it however they like.
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SAMPSON. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is disgrace to them if they bear it.
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SAMPSON. No—as they dare. I’ll bite my thumb at them; it’s an insult if they put up with it.
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ABRAM. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
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ABRAM. Are you biting your thumb at us, sir?
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SAMPSON. I do bite my thumb, sir.
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SAMPSON. I am biting my thumb, sir.
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ABRAM. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?
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ABRAM. Are you biting your thumb at us, sir?
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SAMPSON. Is the law of our side if I say ay?
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SAMPSON. Is the law on our side if I say yes?
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GREGORY. No.
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GREGORY. No.
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SAMPSON. No sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.
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SAMPSON. No, sir, I’m not biting my thumb at you, sir—but I am biting my thumb, sir.
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GREGORY. Do you quarrel, sir?
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GREGORY. Are you looking for a fight, sir?
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ABRAM. Quarrel, sir? No, sir.
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ABRAM. A fight, sir? No, sir.
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SAMPSON. But if you do, sir, I am for you. I serve as good a man as you.
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SAMPSON. But if you do, sir, I’m ready for you. I serve a man just as good as yours.
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ABRAM. No better.
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ABRAM. No better.
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SAMPSON. Well, sir.
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SAMPSON. Well, sir.
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[Enter Benvolio.]
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[Enter Benvolio.]
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GREGORY. Say better; here comes one of my master’s kinsmen.
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GREGORY. Say “better”—here comes one of my master’s relatives.
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SAMPSON. Yes, better, sir.
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SAMPSON. Yes—better, sir.
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ABRAM. You lie.
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ABRAM. You’re lying.
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SAMPSON. Draw, if you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow.
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SAMPSON. Draw if you’re men. Gregory, remember your washing blow.
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[They fight.]
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[They fight.]
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BENVOLIO. Part, fools! put up your swords, you know not what you do.
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BENVOLIO. Stop, you fools! Put up your swords—you don’t know what you’re doing.
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[Beats down their swords.]
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[He beats their swords down.]
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[Enter Tybalt.]
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[Enter Tybalt.]
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TYBALT. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee Benvolio, look upon thy death.
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TYBALT. What—are you drawn among these cowardly servants? Turn, Benvolio, and face your death.
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BENVOLIO. I do but keep the peace, put up thy sword, Or manage it to part these men with me.
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BENVOLIO. I’m only keeping the peace. Put up your sword, or use it to help me separate these men.
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TYBALT. What, drawn, and talk of peace? I hate the word As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward.
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TYBALT. What—drawn and talking of peace? I hate that word as I hate hell, all Montagues, and you. Have at you, coward!
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[They fight.]
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[They fight.]
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[Enter three or four Citizens with clubs.]
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[Enter three or four Citizens with clubs.]
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FIRST CITIZEN. Clubs, bills and partisans! Strike! Beat them down! Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!
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FIRST CITIZEN. Clubs, bills, and partisans! Strike! Beat them down! Down with the Capulets! Down with the Montagues!
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[Enter Capulet in his gown, and Lady Capulet.]
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[Enter Capulet in his dressing-gown, and Lady Capulet.]
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CAPULET. What noise is this? Give me my long sword, ho!
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CAPULET. What’s this noise? Give me my long sword, ho!
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LADY CAPULET. A crutch, a crutch! Why call you for a sword?
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LADY CAPULET. A crutch, a crutch! Why are you calling for a sword?
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CAPULET. My sword, I say! Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me.
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CAPULET. My sword, I say! Old Montague has come and is waving his blade to spite me.
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[Enter Montague and his Lady Montague.]
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[Enter Montague and Lady Montague.]
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MONTAGUE. Thou villain Capulet! Hold me not, let me go.
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MONTAGUE. You villain Capulet! Don’t hold me—let me go!
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LADY MONTAGUE. Thou shalt not stir one foot to seek a foe.
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LADY MONTAGUE. You will not take one step to look for an enemy.
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[Enter Prince Escalus, with Attendants.]
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[Enter Prince Escalus, with Attendants.]
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PRINCE. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel,— Will they not hear? What, ho! You men, you beasts, That quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper’d weapons to the ground And hear the sentence of your moved prince.
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PRINCE. Rebellious subjects, enemies of peace, defilers of this neighbour-stained steel—will they not listen? What, ho! You men, you beasts, who quench the fire of your destructive rage with purple fountains pouring from your veins: on pain of torture, throw your disordered weapons from those bloody hands to the ground and hear the sentence of your angry prince.
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PRINCE. Three civil brawls, bred of an airy word, By thee, old Capulet, and Montague, Have thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets, And made Verona’s ancient citizens Cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, To wield old partisans, in hands as old, Canker’d with peace, to part your canker’d hate.
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PRINCE. Three civil brawls, born of an idle word, by you, old Capulet, and Montague, have three times disturbed the quiet of our streets and made Verona’s elderly citizens throw aside their dignified clothing to wield old partisans in hands as old, rusted by peace, to separate your festering hatred.
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PRINCE. If ever you disturb our streets again, Your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace. For this time all the rest depart away: You, Capulet, shall go along with me, And Montague, come you this afternoon, To know our farther pleasure in this case, To old Free-town, our common judgement-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
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PRINCE. If you ever disturb our streets again, your lives will pay the price of the peace. For now, everyone else leave: you, Capulet, come with me; and Montague, come this afternoon to learn our further decision in this matter, at old Free-town, our common judgment-place. Once more, on pain of death, all men depart.
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[Exeunt Prince and Attendants; Capulet, Lady Capulet, Tybalt, Citizens and Servants.]
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[Exit the Prince and Attendants; Capulet, Lady Capulet, Tybalt, Citizens and Servants.]
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MONTAGUE. Who set this ancient quarrel new abroach? Speak, nephew, were you by when it began?
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MONTAGUE. Who set this old quarrel flowing again? Speak, nephew—were you there when it started?
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BENVOLIO. Here were the servants of your adversary And yours, close fighting ere I did approach. I drew to part them, in the instant came The fiery Tybalt, with his sword prepar’d, Which, as he breath’d defiance to my ears, He swung about his head, and cut the winds, Who nothing hurt withal, hiss’d him in scorn. While we were interchanging thrusts and blows Came more and more, and fought on part and part, Till the Prince came, who parted either part.
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BENVOLIO. Here were the servants of your enemy and of yours, already fighting hard before I arrived. I drew my sword to separate them; at that moment the fiery Tybalt came, his sword ready, and as he breathed defiance in my ears he swung it around his head and cut the air, which, unhurt, hissed at him in scorn. While we were exchanging thrusts and blows, more and more people arrived and fought on both sides, until the Prince came and separated both parties.
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LADY MONTAGUE. O where is Romeo, saw you him today? Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
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LADY MONTAGUE. Oh, where is Romeo—did you see him today? I’m very glad he wasn’t at this fight.
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BENVOLIO. Madam, an hour before the worshipp’d sun Peer’d forth the golden window of the east, A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad, Where underneath the grove of sycamore That westward rooteth from this city side, So early walking did I see your son. Towards him I made, but he was ware of me, And stole into the covert of the wood. I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursu’d my humour, not pursuing his, And gladly shunn’d who gladly fled from me.
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BENVOLIO. Madam, an hour before the revered sun looked out from the golden window of the east, a troubled mind drove me to walk outside, where under the sycamore grove that grows westward from this side of the city I saw your son walking so early. I went toward him, but he noticed me and slipped into the cover of the wood. Judging his feelings by my own—which then most wanted to be where I was least likely to be found, being already one too many for my weary self—I followed my own mood instead of his, and gladly avoided the one who gladly fled from me.
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MONTAGUE. Many a morning hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning’s dew, Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs; But all so soon as the all-cheering sun Should in the farthest east begin to draw The shady curtains from Aurora’s bed, Away from light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out And makes himself an artificial night. Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove.
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MONTAGUE. Many a morning he has been seen there, with tears increasing the fresh morning dew, adding more clouds to the clouds with his deep sighs. But as soon as the all-cheering sun begins in the farthest east to draw the shady curtains from Aurora’s bed, my heavy-hearted son steals home away from the light, shuts himself privately in his room, closes his windows, locks out the fair daylight, and makes himself an artificial night. This mood must prove dark and ominous unless good advice can remove the cause.
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BENVOLIO. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
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BENVOLIO. My noble uncle, do you know the cause?
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MONTAGUE. I neither know it nor can learn of him.
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MONTAGUE. I neither know it nor can find it out from him.
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BENVOLIO. Have you importun’d him by any means?
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BENVOLIO. Have you pressed him about it in any way?
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MONTAGUE. Both by myself and many other friends; But he, his own affections’ counsellor, Is to himself—I will not say how true— But to himself so secret and so close, So far from sounding and discovery, As is the bud bit with an envious worm Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, Or dedicate his beauty to the sun. Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow, We would as willingly give cure as know.
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MONTAGUE. Both by myself and by many other friends. But he, counsellor to his own feelings, is to himself—I won’t say how true—but so secret and closed off to himself, so far from being probed or discovered, as is the bud bitten by a jealous worm before it can spread its sweet leaves to the air or offer its beauty to the sun. If only we could learn where his sorrows come from, we would be as ready to cure them as to know them.
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[Enter Romeo.]
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[Enter Romeo.]
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BENVOLIO. See, where he comes. So please you step aside; I’ll know his grievance or be much denied.
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BENVOLIO. See, here he comes. Please step aside; I’ll find out his trouble or be strongly refused.
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MONTAGUE. I would thou wert so happy by thy stay To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let’s away.
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MONTAGUE. I hope you’ll be lucky enough in staying to hear a true confession. Come, madam, let’s go.
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[Exeunt Montague and Lady Montague.]
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[Exit Montague and Lady Montague.]
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BENVOLIO. Good morrow, cousin.
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BENVOLIO. Good morning, cousin.
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ROMEO. Is the day so young?
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ROMEO. Is the day still so young?
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BENVOLIO. But new struck nine.
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BENVOLIO. It has only just struck nine.
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ROMEO. Ay me, sad hours seem long. Was that my father that went hence so fast?
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ROMEO. Ah me—sad hours seem long. Was that my father who left so quickly?
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BENVOLIO. It was. What sadness lengthens Romeo’s hours?
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BENVOLIO. It was. What sadness makes Romeo’s hours feel so long?
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ROMEO. Not having that which, having, makes them short.
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ROMEO. Not having the thing that, if I had it, would make them short.
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BENVOLIO. In love?
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BENVOLIO. In love?
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ROMEO. Out.
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ROMEO. Out.
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BENVOLIO. Of love?
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BENVOLIO. Out of love?
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ROMEO. Out of her favour where I am in love.
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ROMEO. Out of favour with the one I love.
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BENVOLIO. Alas that love so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof.
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BENVOLIO. Alas that love, so gentle in appearance, should prove so tyrannical and rough in experience.
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ROMEO. Alas that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here? Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here’s much to do with hate, but more with love: Why, then, O brawling love! O loving hate! O anything, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is! This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh?
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ROMEO. Alas that love, whose sight is still blindfolded, should without eyes find ways to get what it wants! Where shall we dine? Oh me! What fight was here? Yet don’t tell me—I’ve heard it all. Here’s a lot to do with hate, but more with love. Why then—O fighting love! O loving hate! O anything created first out of nothing! O heavy lightness! serious emptiness! Misshapen chaos of things that look well-formed! Lead feather, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Always-awake sleep that is not what it seems! This is the love I feel, that feels no love in this. Don’t you laugh?
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BENVOLIO. No coz, I rather weep.
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BENVOLIO. No, cousin—I would rather weep.
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ROMEO. Good heart, at what?
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ROMEO. Good heart, at what?
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BENVOLIO. At thy good heart’s oppression.
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BENVOLIO. At the oppression of your good heart.
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ROMEO. Why such is love’s transgression. Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast, Which thou wilt propagate to have it prest With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much of mine own. Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs; Being purg’d, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes; Being vex’d, a sea nourish’d with lovers’ tears: What is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a preserving sweet. Farewell, my coz.
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ROMEO. Why, that is how love transgresses. My own griefs already lie heavy in my breast; you will only multiply them by pressing more of yours on top. This love you’ve shown adds more grief to the too-much I already have. Love is a smoke made from the fumes of sighs; when cleared, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes; when troubled, a sea fed by lovers’ tears. What else is it? A most discreet madness, a choking bitterness, and a preserving sweetness. Farewell, my cousin.
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[Going.]
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[He starts to leave.]
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BENVOLIO. Soft! I will go along: And if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
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BENVOLIO. Wait! I’ll come with you. And if you leave me like this, you wrong me.
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ROMEO. Tut! I have lost myself; I am not here. This is not Romeo, he’s some other where.
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ROMEO. Tut! I’ve lost myself; I’m not here. This isn’t Romeo—he’s somewhere else.
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BENVOLIO. Tell me in sadness who is that you love?
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BENVOLIO. Tell me seriously—who is it you love?
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ROMEO. What, shall I groan and tell thee?
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ROMEO. What—shall I groan and tell you?
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BENVOLIO. Groan! Why, no; but sadly tell me who.
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BENVOLIO. Groan? Why no—but tell me seriously who.
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ROMEO. Bid a sick man in sadness make his will, A word ill urg’d to one that is so ill. In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
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ROMEO. Tell a sick man to make his will in seriousness—a word badly urged on someone so ill. In seriousness, cousin, I do love a woman.
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BENVOLIO. I aim’d so near when I suppos’d you lov’d.
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BENVOLIO. I aimed that close when I guessed you were in love.
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ROMEO. A right good markman, and she’s fair I love.
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ROMEO. A truly good marksman—and the one I love is fair.
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BENVOLIO. A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.
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BENVOLIO. A truly fair target, fair cousin, is the easiest to hit.
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ROMEO. Well, in that hit you miss: she’ll not be hit With Cupid’s arrow, she hath Dian’s wit; And in strong proof of chastity well arm’d, From love’s weak childish bow she lives uncharm’d. She will not stay the siege of loving terms Nor bide th’encounter of assailing eyes, Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: O she’s rich in beauty, only poor That when she dies, with beauty dies her store.
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ROMEO. Well, in that shot you miss: she will not be hit by Cupid’s arrow—she has Diana’s wisdom; and well-armoured in strong proof of chastity, she lives uncharmed by love’s weak childish bow. She will not endure the siege of loving words, nor wait for the attack of besieging eyes, nor open her lap to gold that could seduce a saint. Oh, she is rich in beauty, only poor in this: that when she dies, her store of beauty dies with her.
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BENVOLIO. Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste?
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BENVOLIO. Then she has sworn that she will always live chaste?
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ROMEO. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste; For beauty starv’d with her severity, Cuts beauty off from all posterity. She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair. She hath forsworn to love, and in that vow Do I live dead, that live to tell it now.
116
ROMEO. She has—and in that thrift she makes huge waste. For beauty starved by her severity cuts beauty off from all future generations. She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair to earn heaven by making me despair. She has sworn never to love, and in that vow I live as if dead, while I live to tell it now.
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BENVOLIO. Be rul’d by me, forget to think of her.
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BENVOLIO. Be ruled by me—stop thinking of her.
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ROMEO. O teach me how I should forget to think.
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ROMEO. Oh, teach me how I am supposed to stop thinking.
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BENVOLIO. By giving liberty unto thine eyes; Examine other beauties.
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BENVOLIO. By giving freedom to your eyes; look at other beauties.
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ROMEO. ’Tis the way To call hers, exquisite, in question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows, Being black, puts us in mind they hide the fair; He that is strucken blind cannot forget The precious treasure of his eyesight lost. Show me a mistress that is passing fair, What doth her beauty serve but as a note Where I may read who pass’d that passing fair? Farewell, thou canst not teach me to forget.
120
ROMEO. That’s the way to make hers seem even more exquisite by comparison. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows, being black, remind us they hide the fair ones. The man who is struck blind cannot forget the precious treasure of the eyesight he has lost. Show me a mistress who is extremely fair—what does her beauty serve except as a note where I can read of the one who surpassed that extreme fairness? Farewell—you cannot teach me to forget.
121
BENVOLIO. I’ll pay that doctrine, or else die in debt.
121
BENVOLIO. I’ll prove that teaching true, or else die in debt.
122
[Exeunt.]
122
[They exit.]
Astrology · Fate
Star-cross’d – Opposed or thwarted by the stars; doomed by destiny. The phrase introduces the central theme of fate versus free will.
Word · Archaic
Misadventur’d – Unlucky; full of unfortunate events. Emphasises the tragic accidents that befall the lovers.
Metaphor · Fate
Death-mark’d – Marked out for death from the beginning. The love is already stamped with its fatal end.
Proverb · Elizabethan
Carry coals – A common proverb meaning to endure insults or do dirty, menial work without protest. Sampson is declaring he will not submit to humiliation.
Pun · Occupational
Colliers – Coal-miners or coal-sellers, proverbially dirty and of low status. The pun links “coals” with social degradation.
Pun · Humours
Choler – One of the four bodily humours; excess caused anger. Sampson puns on “coal” / “choler” to shift from enduring insult to drawing swords in rage.
Pun · Execution
Collar – Both a yoke or neck-band and the hangman’s noose. Gregory warns that drawing a sword may lead to hanging.
Custom · Street etiquette
Take the wall – In narrow streets the side nearest the wall was cleaner and safer; claiming it was a mark of social superiority. Refusing to yield it could start a fight.
Biblical · Gender
Weaker vessels – Echo of 1 Peter 3:7, where wives are called “the weaker vessel.” Sampson twists the phrase into a crude sexual threat.
Pun · Sexual
Maidenheads – Virginity. The double meaning of “heads” allows Sampson’s boast to slide from literal beheading to sexual conquest.
Food · Insult
Poor John – Cheap dried and salted hake, a staple of the poor. Gregory jokes that if Sampson were a fish he would be worthless dried cod.
Gesture · Insult
Bite my thumb – A deliberate, provocative gesture roughly equivalent to giving the finger; refusing to tolerate it was a challenge to fight.
Insult · Class
Heartless hinds – Cowardly servants or peasants. Tybalt contemptuously reduces the fighting servants to spineless menials.
Weapon · Civic
Partisans – Long-handled spears or pikes carried by the city watch and citizens when called to quell riots.
Metaphor · Disease
Canker’d – Both rusted (of metal left unused) and corrupted by disease. The Prince applies the image to both the old weapons and the festering feud.
Place · Verona
Free-town – Shakespeare’s name for the public judgment-place or court in Verona where the Prince will decide the case.
Metaphor · Liquid
Abroach – Literally, to set a cask running; figuratively, to set an old quarrel flowing again.
Mythology · Dawn
Aurora – Roman goddess of the dawn. Montague pictures the sun drawing back the curtains from her bed each morning.
Mythology · Love
Cupid – The blind boy-god of love whose arrows cause instantaneous passion. Romeo claims Rosaline is immune to them.
Mythology · Chastity
Dian (Diana) – Roman goddess of the hunt and of chastity. Her “wit” is the cool intelligence that rejects romantic love.