BENVOLIO: 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 I am peppered, I warrant, for this world. A plague o' both your houses! 'Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a 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!