What, art thou hurt?

Mercutio.
Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch; marry, 'tis enough.--
Where is my page?--go, villain, fetch a surgeon.

[Exit Page.]

Romeo.
Courage, man; the hurt cannot be much.

Mercutio.
No, 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door;
but 'tis enough, 'twill serve: ask for me to-morrow, and you
shall find me a grave man. I am peppered, I warrant, for this
world.--A plague o' both your houses!--Zounds, a dog, a rat, a
mouse, a cat, to scratch a man to death! a braggart, a rogue, a
villain, that fights by the book of arithmetic!--Why the devil
came you between us? I was hurt under your arm.

Romeo.
I thought all for the best.

Mercutio.
Help me into some house, Benvolio,
Or I shall faint.--A plague o' both your houses!
They have made worms' meat of me:
I have it, and soundly too.--Your houses!

[Exit Mercutio and Benvolio.]