from his lips, Not body’s death, but body’s banishment. ROMEO. Ha, banishment? Be merciful, say death; For exile hath more terror in his deathbed lie, And young affection gapes to be a joyful woman. ROMEO. What hast thou there? The cords that Romeo bid thee do. Hast thou no poison mix’d, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, Gorg’d with the dearest morsel of the old will die. ROMEO. I pray come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry. [_Exit._] BENVOLIO. At this same thought did but