Exit, L.
Jul. By whose direction found you out this spot?
Rom. ’Tis put down in the Directory, is it not?
Jul. If you are found here, you’ll be murdered straight,
So pray begone—
Rom. I think I’d rather wait.
Fear not for me my jewel, on my word,
Your eyes cut deeper than the sharpest sword.
Oh! beauteous Juliet, fairest of the fair,
Within my heart a roaring flame I bear.