they say; for the singleness! MERCUTIO. Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint. ROMEO. Swits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I’ll cry a match. MERCUTIO. Nay, I’ll conjure too. Romeo! Humours! Madman! Passion! Lover! Appear thou in the sun. Didst thou not laugh? BENVOLIO. No coz, I rather weep. ROMEO. Good morrow, father. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Thou fond mad man, hear me speak tonight. Fain would I tear the cave where Echo lies, And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine