Right glad I am he was not at this fray.
Benvolio. Madam, an hour before [the worshipp'd sun]
Peer'd [forth] the golden window of the east,
A troubled mind drave me to walk abroad;
Where, underneath the grove of [sycamore]
That westward [rooteth] from the city's side,
So early walking did I see your son.
Towards him I made, but he was [ware] of me
And stole into the covert of the wood;
I, measuring his [affections] by my own,