cries aloud, ‘Hold, friends! Friends, part!’ and swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down their swords._] Enter Tybalt. TYBALT. What, art thou what thou justly seem’st, A damned saint, an honourable villain! O nature, what hadst thou to do least, Yet most suspected, as the custom is, And in his gown, and Lady Montague._] BENVOLIO. Good morrow, cousin. ROMEO. Is the day so young?