Tybalt: 'What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?<|>Turn thee, Benvolio, look upon thy death.<|>What, drawn, and talk of peace! I hate the word, As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee:<|>This, by his voice, should be a Montague.— Fetch me my rapier, boy!<|>Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe, A villain that is hither come in spite To scorn at our solemnity this night.<|>What dares the slave Come hither covered with an antic face To fleer and scorn at our solemnity? Now, by the stock and honor of my kin, To strike him dead I hold it not a sin.<|>Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo<|>Romeo, the love I bear thee can afford No better term than this: thou art a villain.'