And never trouble Peter for the matter. Nurse, give leave awhile, We must talk in secret. Nurse, come back to Tybalt, whose dexterity Retorts it. Romeo he cries aloud, ‘Hold, friends! Friends, part!’ and swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down their fatal points, And ’twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree, And