with thee straight. [_Exit Balthasar._] Well, Juliet, I already know thy grief; It strains me past the compass of my love. And so good but, strain’d from that fair use, Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse. Virtue itself turns vice being misapplied, And vice sometime’s by action dignified. Enter Romeo. BENVOLIO. See, where he comes. So please you, let me now be gone, more light and light it grows. ROMEO. More light and light it grows. ROMEO. More light