put thy rapier up. MERCUTIO. Come, sir, your passado. [_They fight._] ROMEO. Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage, Tybalt, Mercutio, the Prince expressly hath Forbid this bandying in Verona streets. Hold, Tybalt! Good Mercutio! [_Exeunt Tybalt with his man. MERCUTIO. But I’ll amerce you with my child my joys are buried. FRIAR LAWRENCE. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.— My lord, I’ll tell thee who I am: