Like a rich jewel in an [Ethiope's ear];
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For [I ne'er saw] true beauty till this night.
Tybalt. This, by his voice, should be a Montague.—
Fetch me my rapier, boy.—[What dares] the slave