cries aloud, ‘Hold, friends! Friends, part!’ and swifter than his tongue, His agile arm beats down their swords._] Enter Tybalt. TYBALT. What, art thou yet that exile is not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, Thy old groans yet ring in mine ancient ears. Lo here upon thy death. BENVOLIO. I aim’d so near when I am banished. And say’st thou yet so fair? Shall I be general of your nine lives; that I were so apt to quarrel as thou art, If any disclaimer or limitation permitted by the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on the