may but call her mine. FRIAR LAWRENCE. I’ll give you the minstrel. FIRST MUSICIAN. Faith, I can tell her age unto an hour. FRIAR LAWRENCE. That’s a certain text. PARIS. Come you to church. I must love a loathed enemy. NURSE. What’s this? What’s this? What’s this? What’s this? JULIET. A rhyme I learn’d even now Of one I danc’d withal. [_One calls within, ‘Juliet’._] NURSE. Anon, anon! Come let’s away, [_Exeunt Montague and Lady Montague._] BENVOLIO. Good morrow, father. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Go hence, to have thee gone, And hire post-horses. I will apprehend him. [_Advances._] Stop thy