It is Benvolio's plan, not mine. To make Romeo fall in love. Again. I wish I could sway his heart but my way.
I watch him as he sighs, his mind heavy with shame. It has been an even fortnight since he came to my room. An even fortnight since he poured his soul out to me. An even fortnight since he confessed he could ne'er love a woman as he did one friend. An even fortnight since I began, unsuccessfully, racking my thoughts to find the friend he loved. I have found none.
But, oh 'tis so much longer than an even fortnight since I loved him.
"Give me the torch: I am not for this ambling, Being but heavy, I will bear the light," he huffs.
I wrap an arm around his waist and grab one his hand, and begin a waltz with my friend. I am shocked that he does not pull away. "Nay, gentle Romeo, we must have you dance."
"Not I, believe me: you have dancing shoes With nimble soles." He does not pull away, yet, but keeps dancing. The feel of his body so close to mine and yet so far away... It is intoxicating. "I have a soul of lead So stakes me to the ground I cannot move."
I lean close and whisper in his ear. "You are a lover; borrow Cupid's wings, And soar with them above a common bound."
Now, he pulls away, shocked and a little scared, methinks. "I am too sore enpierced with his shaft To soar with his light feathers, and so bound, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe: Under love's heavy burden do I sink."
'Tis time for me to play my part of the doting friend, and fool...
"And, to sink in it, should you burden love; Too great oppression for a tender thing."
He sighs, and methnks a mournful soul doth rise to his eye as he looks on me. "Is love a tender thing? it is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn."
I smile and circle him like a hawk hunting its prey, "If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down." I turn to Benvolio and take my mask from his hand. "Give me a case to put my visage in: A visor for a visor! what care I What curious eye doth quote deformities? Here are the beetle brows shall blush for me." I wiggle my eyebrows at Romeo and wink. "Come, we burn daylight, ho!"
He gives me a querying glance. "Nay, that's not so."
"I mean, sir, in delay," I grin. "We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits Five times in that ere once in our five wits."
"And we mean well in going to this mask; But 'tis no wit to go."
I place my arm around his shoulders. "Why, may one ask?"
"I dream'd a dream to-night."
I grin remembering my own dream of this ethereal god before me. "And so did I."
"Well, what was yours?"
I smile sadly before laughing marrily, "That dreamers often lie."
"In their bed asleep, while they do dream things true."
"Oh, then I see Queen Mab hath been with you..."
"Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace! Thou talkst of nothing."
I sigh. "True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy."
I fear something in the going in. Something wrenches at my heart and threatens death to my love and to me.
Benvolio and I are walking the streets exchanging wits when Tybalt, the very Prince of Cats, approaches us.
"Gentlemen, good den: a word with one of you."
I grin and draw my rapier. "And but one word with one of us? couple it with Something; make it a word and a blow." Igrin, taunting the master, flirting with my death. 'Tis something I desire now that Benvolio's plot has worked. My dear Romeo. In love. Again. But not with me. Never with me.
He draws his own sword, and we begin our dance for Death. "You shall find me apt enough to that, sir, an you Will give me occasion."
"Could you not take some occasion without giving?"
"Mercutio, thou consort'st with Romeo,--"
My temper is riled, though not simply for his implications, but because I long so for his implications to be true. "Consort!" I take a breath to calm myself and take on the appearance of jest."What, dost thou make us minstrels? an Thou make minstrels of us, look to hear nothing but Discords: here's my fiddlestick; here's that shall Make you dance." I grin and scoff, "'Zounds, consort!"
Benvolio jumps at the chance for his own words, though his be of caution, "We talk here in the public haunt of men: Either withdraw unto some private place, And reason coldly of your grievances, Or else depart; here all eyes gaze on us."
"Men's eyes were made to look, and let them gaze; I will not budge for no man's pleasure, I."
Romeo emerges onto the street and my heart stops, and Tybalt's words freeze my blood. "Well, peace be with you, sir: here comes my man."
Fury rises in my throat. "But I'll be hanged, sir, if he wear your livery:Marry, go before to field, he'll be your follower;Your worship in that sense may call him 'man.'"
Tybalt ignores me, enfuriating me even more, yet I sheath my rapier, romeo shall tear his splean from his body. "Romeo, the hate I bear thee can affordNo better term than this,--thou art a villain."
Romeo? A villain? Nay, his only offense be in stealing our hearts. Yours and mine, it seems.
"To such a greeting: villain am I none;Therefore farewell; I see thou know'st me not."
"Boy, this shall not excuse the injuriesThat thou hast done me; therefore turn and draw."
"O calm, dishonourable, vile submission!Alla stoccata carries it away." If Romeo shall not fight, I shall in his stead. I draw my rapier. "Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?"
"What wouldst thou have with me?"
"Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine Lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you Shall use me hereafter, drybeat the rest of the Eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher By the ears? make haste, lest mine be about your Ears ere it be out."
Finally, Tybalt's rapier has left it's baldric. "I am for you."
Romeo is talking, I am not certain of the words. All I know is Tybalt can beat my rapier to the side faster than any. Suddenly, Romeo stands between us, and I dare not strike the cat for fear of hurting the god. "Hold, Tybalt! good Mercutio!" And then, the searing pain in my side. I see Tybalt's blade withdrawing from my flesh, my blood up to its hilt. I cannot hold myslef upright, I collapse to the ground. What evil it is to be wounded under the arm of one I love...
Romeo catches me as I fall, and sits behind me as I lay, finally with my head on his chest, finally in his arms.
"I am hurt.A plague o' both your houses! I am sped.Is he gone, and hath nothing?" Did I hurt the braggart none?
Benvolio rushes to my side, "What, art thou hurt?"
"Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch." I hiss in pain. "Marry, 'tis enough."
Romeo is shaking, and I feel drops of water on my face, falling from his eyes. He hold me close, presses his cheek to mine. If I knew no better, I would think he loved me...
"Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much." He is not trying to reasure me, but himself. O, that he were right!
"No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as aChurch-door; but 'tis enough,'twill serve: ask forMe to-morrow, and you shall find me a grave man. IAm peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' Both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, aCat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a Rogue, a villain, that fights by the book ofArithmetic!" I turn my face to Romeo, my dearest beloved."Why the devil came you between us?" I fight the tears no longer. Gravely wounded under my love's arm... "I
was hurt under your arm."
"I thought all for the best." He is sobbing now, and I feel like the wretch who knowing the hurt must hurt another.
I must escape him, before I tell him of my love. "Help me into some house, Benvolio,Or I shall faint."
The warmth of Romeo's arms disappears as I am carried inside by Benvolio, my dear friend...