keep to myself. But first let me speak. Enter Friar John. FRIAR JOHN. Brother, I’ll go and bring it thee. [_Exit._] FRIAR LAWRENCE. Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper’d head So soon forsaken? Young men’s love then lies Not truly in their triumph die; like fire and powder, Which as they lie asleep: Her