Mer. Alas, poor Romeo, he is already dead! stabbed
with a white wench's black eye; shot thorough the ear with[574]
a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind 15
bow-boy's butt-shaft: and is he a man to encounter Tybalt?
Ben. Why, what is Tybalt?[575][576]
Mer. More than prince of cats, I can tell you. O, he's[576][577]
the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you
sing prick-song, keeps time, distance and proportion;[578] 20
rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your[579]
bosom: the very butcher of a silk button, a duellist, a duellist;[580]
a gentleman of the very first house, of the first and
second cause: ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso!
the hai![581] 25
Ben. The what?
Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes;[582][583]
these new tuners of accents! 'By Jesu, a very good[583][584]
blade! a very tall man! a very good whore!' Why, is
not this a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be 30
thus afflicted with these strange flies, these fashion-mongers,
these perdona-mi's, who stand so much on the new form[585]
that they cannot sit at ease on the old bench? O, their[586]
bones, their bones![587]
Enter Romeo.
Ben. Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo.[588] 35
Mer. 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;[589]
marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her; Dido,
a dowdy; Cleopatra, a gipsy; Helen and Hero, hildings and[590] 40
harlots; Thisbe, a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose.[591]
Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your[592]
French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.[593]
Rom. Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit[594]
did I give you?[594] 45
Mer. The slip, sir, the slip; can you not conceive?[594]