BENVOLIO.
Soft! I will go along:
And if you leave me so, you do me wrong.
ROMEO.
Tut! I have lost myself; I am not here.
This is not Romeo, he’s some other where.
BENVOLIO.
Tell me in sadness who is that you love?
ROMEO.
What, shall I groan and tell thee?
BENVOLIO.
Groan! Why, no; but sadly tell me who.
ROMEO.
Bid a sick man in sadness make his will,
A word ill urg’d to one that is so ill.
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.
BENVOLIO.
I aim’d so near when I suppos’d you lov’d.
ROMEO.
A right good markman, and she’s fair I love.