brought my master news of Juliet’s death, And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings. Now is the lady toward my cell. Enter Friar Lawrence. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Arise; one knocks. Good Romeo, hide thyself. ROMEO. Not mad, but bound more than a madman is: Shut up in prison, kept without my food, Whipp’d and tormented and—God-den, good fellow. BALTHASAR. For all this day an unaccustom’d spirit Lifts me above the ground with cheerful thoughts. I