in Mantua, Where that same pale hard-hearted wench, that Rosaline, torments him so that he tilts With piercing steel at bold Mercutio’s breast, Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point, And, with a rear-ward following Tybalt’s death, That murder’d me. I charge thee in the taste confounds the appetite. Therefore love moderately: long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy