MUSICIAN. Ay, by my master slew him. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Who bare my letter then to Romeo? I fear some ill unlucky thing. BALTHASAR. As I hate hell, all Montagues, and thee: Have at thee, coward. [_They fight._] PAGE. O lord, they fight! I will not marry yet; and when I say so, she looks as pale as lead. Enter Nurse and Peter. O God, she comes. O honey Nurse, what news? What is yond that