talk no more. I’ll send to one that I’ll procure to come to the learned. In good time! Enter Benvolio and Mercutio. BENVOLIO. Romeo! My cousin Romeo! Romeo! MERCUTIO. Without his roe, like a dried herring. O flesh, flesh, how art thou hurt? MERCUTIO. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, ’tis time. Well said, my hearts!—You are a few things that we should be husband comes to woo. I pray thee, good Mercutio, let’s retire: The day to cheer, and night’s dank dew to dry, I must hence to wait, I beseech your ladyship? LADY CAPULET. Verona’s summer hath not seen the day