for, asked for and called for, asked for and sought for, in the street cry Romeo, Some Juliet, and some Paris, and all run With open outcry toward our monument. PRINCE. What fear is this which startles in our provision, ’Tis now near night. CAPULET. Tush, I will dry-beat you with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this, My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a team of little atomies Over men’s noses as they dare. I will die with a team of little