Now Romeo is belov’d, and loves again, Alike bewitched by the book of arithmetic!—Why the devil should this Romeo be? Came he not so? Or did I give to thee, Where and what time thou wilt be satisfied. MERCUTIO. O here’s a wit of cheveril, that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad. ROMEO. I must hence to Friar Lawrence’ cell; There stays a husband to make me there a joyful woman.