Enter Romeo.
BENVOLIO.
Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo!
MERCUTIO.
Without his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in. Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen wench,—marry, she had a better love to berhyme her: Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gypsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bonjour! There’s a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.
ROMEO.
Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?
MERCUTIO.
The slip sir, the slip; can you not conceive?
ROMEO.
Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great, and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy.
MERCUTIO.
That’s as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams.
ROMEO.
Meaning, to curtsy.
MERCUTIO.
Thou hast most kindly hit it.
ROMEO.
A most courteous exposition.