Two houses, both alike in filthy, stinking lack of dignity, anger carrying the best of us to cold grave on warm sand, salt water bringing salt tears. Even Tybalt wept.
All should have come to end with that death. Brave Mercutio, flamboyant Mercutio, Mercutio who lived, Mercutio who hath died. No prayer send that shining soul winging to better eternity, here and now his lust, bright here, joyous now, lost, all lost, with Mercutio.
Done you for a dollar, done you in for a dollar more, yet greater honor in Mercutio than in old grudge, ancient feud, name to name, hand to gun, blood to sand. Love did he, rage as well, but ne'er be not true.
Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough.
A plague on both their houses.