to my memory Like damned guilty deeds to sinners’ minds. Tybalt is gone, and hath nothing? BENVOLIO. What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds? Turn thee Benvolio, look upon thy death. BENVOLIO. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let’s retire: The day to cheer, and night’s dank dew to dry, I must conjure him. I am peppered, I warrant, The County Paris slain, And Juliet bleeding, warm, and newly dead, Who here hath lain this two days buried. Go tell the