Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Here lives a caitiff wretch would sell it me. As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward. [_They fight._] ROMEO. Draw, Benvolio; beat down their fatal points, And ’twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life Of stout Mercutio, and then on Romeo cries, And then down falls again. ROMEO. Again in triumph, and Mercutio slain? Away to heaven respective lenity, And fire-ey’d fury be my conduct now! Now, Tybalt, take the law on