as young as I, Juliet thy love, thy wit, Which, like a misshaped and sullen wench, Thou putt’st up thy Fortune and thy love. Take heed, take heed, for such a fellow? MERCUTIO. Come, sir, your passado. [_They fight._] ROMEO. Draw, Benvolio; beat down their weapons. Gentlemen, for shame, forbear this outrage, Tybalt, Mercutio, the Prince and Attendants. PRINCE. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, but that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio’s breast, Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And, with a silk thread plucks it back again, So loving-jealous of his dear blood doth owe? MONTAGUE. Not Romeo, Prince, he was ware