Anselmo. What misadventures may your folly breed!
Antonio aside to Teobaldo. What! Bearded thus within
the sacred walls of home?
Roselo Montes in my house!
Teobaldo. Hush, listen!
Antonio. To what? to whom? I—
Teobaldo. To one now cooler than thyself.
This youth a noble nature doth unfold,
Though but of thoughtless age he is;
He knows no venom of that cursed hate
So madly cherish'd by our rival kin,
And seeing that we joyous revels hold,
He boldly comes to share them.
Antonio. Some false intent he hath.
If he be arm’d, methinks he aims at treachery.
Teobaldo. Thy reason prompted not those words.
He comes in boyish confidence and truth,
And as for swords, our kinsmen here
Do fill the garden now on every side.
Antonio. Base outrage on our name and blood!
Teobaldo. Antonio, as an honour treat it.
Antonio. I judge not thus this most unseemly deed;
He dies a traitor's death.
Teobaldo. Then will I not aid thee
In such a coward deed; he comes
As gallant goshawk to the quarry flies,
To see what pretty flutterers, taking wing,
Do sigh and wish for mates.
Keep thine own counsel, and no tumult raise;
Nor fire the heated blood of kinsfolk here.
Antonio. My blood is hot, and yet
Some prudence doth thy counsel entertain.
