to part them was stout Tybalt slain; And as he fell did Romeo turn and fly. This is dear mercy, and thou see’st it not. ROMEO. ’Tis the way To call hers, exquisite, in question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows, Being black, puts us in mind they hide the fair; He that is my will; the which if thou swear’st, Thou mayst prove false. At lovers’