men’s love then lies Not truly in their eyes. Jesu Maria, what a scourge is laid upon your hate, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love! And I, for winking at your hands. Enter Capulet in his needy shop a tortoise hung, An alligator stuff’d, and other skins Of ill-shaped fishes; and about his shelves A beggarly account of empty boxes, Green earthen pots, bladders, and musty