wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is he for the world to nothing That he dares ne’er come back to challenge you. Or if sour woe delights in fellowship, And needly will be rank’d with other griefs, Why follow’d not, when she said Tybalt’s dead, that live to tell it you. O pardon me for bringing these ill news, Since you did leave it for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the likeness of shrunk death