a Friar, and slaughter’d Romeo’s man, With instruments upon them fit to open These dead men’s tombs. CAPULET. O me, O me! What fray was here? Yet tell me that? His son is thirty. CAPULET. Will you be men. Gregory, remember thy washing blow. [_They fight._] ROMEO. Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage, Tybalt, Mercutio, the Prince come hither.