We won’t go home till morning,
We won’t go home till morning,
We won’t go home till morning,
Till Juliet doth appear.
Enter Romeo and Mercutio, L.
Mer. Shut up, old chap, this strain will never do:
’Twill get us both locked up in Station Two.
Rom. Mercuth, old chap, I’ll own I’m rather airy,
And feel as limber as a Black-Crook fairy.
’S all right, old fel’, I’m deuced glad you’re here: