The only son of your great enemy.
140
Juliet. My only love sprung from my only hate!
Too early seen unknown, and known too late!
[Prodigious] birth of love it is to me,
That I must love a loathed enemy.
Nurse. What's this? what's this?
Juliet. A rhyme I learn'd even now
Of one I danc'd withal. [One calls within 'Juliet.'
Nurse. Anon, anon!—