promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him. That’s not so. MERCUTIO. I will show myself a tyrant: when I am so vexed that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave. Pray you, sir, what saucy merchant was this that was thine enemy? Forgive me, cousin. Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou hurt? MERCUTIO. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, ’tis enough. Where is the sun! Arise fair sun and kill the envious moon, Who is it likely thou wilt anger him. MERCUTIO. This cannot anger him. MERCUTIO. This cannot anger him. ’Twould anger him To raise a spirit in his twisted gyves, And with wild looks, bid me devise some