O, she knew well Thy love did read by rote and could not spell. But come, young waverer, come, go with me, In one respect I’ll thy assistant be; For this alliance may so happy prove, To turn your households’ rancour to pure love.
A street.
Where the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not home to-night?
Ah, that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.
Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet, Hath sent a letter to his father’s house.
No hare, sir; unless a hare, sir, in a Lenten pie, that is something stale and hoar ere it be spent. Sings.