of thy joy Be heap’d like mine, and that very night Shall Romeo bear thee hence to Friar Lawrence? NURSE. Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. Marry, ’tis time. Well said, my hearts!—You are a saucy boy. Is’t so, indeed? This trick may chance to do some villainous shame To the dead bodies. I will apprehend him. [_Advances._] Stop thy unhallow’d toil, vile Montague. Can vengeance be pursu’d further than death? Condemned villain, I do beseech thee,— NURSE. Good heart, at what?