Rom. Who is already sick and pale with grief—
Mer. Then give it a dose of Radway’s Ready Relief.
Rom. She speaks, yet she says nothing—
Mer. Nary word;
Upon my life, such silence ne’er was heard.
Rom. See how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
Mer. Because she’s tired: can’t you understand?
Rom. Oh! would I were some gloves upon thy—
Mer. Pause!
Or else old Capulet’ll have us in his claws.