That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odor.
Romeo (without, sings).—
“Yes, meet—yes, meet—yes, meet me by moonlight a—lone.”
Mrs. Pet.—Horrible! monstrous! was ever sound so nerve-destroying heard save from the larynx of a dying calf? I despise these daylight serenades.
Mrs. Othello.—
The woman that hath no music in herself,
Nor is not woo’d with concord of sweet sounds,
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils;
The motions of her spirit are dull as night,