TYBALT: This, by his voice, should be a Montague.
{Fetch me my rapier, boy. What dares the slave
Come hither, cover'd with an antic face},
To fleer and scorn at our solemnity?
{Now, by the stock and honour of my kin,
To strike him dead, I hold it not a sin.}
CAPULET: Why, how now, kinsman! wherefore storm you so?
TYBALT: Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe,
{A villain that is hither come in spite,
To scorn at our solemnity this night.}
CAPULET: Young Romeo is it?
TYBALT: 'Tis he, that villain Romeo.
