Peter. Anon!
Nurse. [My fan, Peter].
Mercutio. Good Peter, to hide her face; for her
fan's the fairer of the two.
Nurse. [God ye good morrow], gentlemen.
Mercutio. God ye good den, fair gentlewoman.
Nurse. Is it good den?
Mercutio. 'Tis no less, I tell you, for the hand of
the dial is now upon the [prick of noon].
110Nurse. Out upon you! what a man are you!
Romeo. One, gentlewoman, that God hath made
for himself to mar.
Nurse. By my troth, it is well said; 'for himself
to mar,' quoth a'?—Gentlemen, can any of you tell
me where I may find the young Romeo?