O, I am a fool! Fortune has made me her plaything!
For Tybalt lies dead. Tybalt, my wife’s cousin, dead at my own hand.
How Fortune laughs to see me tremble!
I came upon them, fresh from my wedding. My cousin Benvolio, Mercutio my good friend, and Tybalt, newly mine own kin.
Then Tybalt did slay Mercutio, and I slew Tybalt.
Benvolio commanded I take my leave, reminding me of the prince’s wrath.
And so I escape, knowing this:
’Twas a senseless fight, a fair and graceful fight, inspired by every emotion to which man is prone.
Mostly love and mostly hate.
O, I am fortune’s fool!
For in my heart, I did never mean to murder Tybalt,
but Tybalt now is dead.
Love’s put her lusty dagger in my soul, as sure as the prince shall
put a bounty on my head.