men. I do spy a kind of fruit As maids call medlars when they laugh alone. O Romeo, Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio’s dead, That gallant spirit hath aspir’d the clouds, Which too untimely here did scorn the earth. ROMEO. This day’s black fate on mo days doth depend; This but begins the woe others must end. Re-enter Tybalt. BENVOLIO. Here comes your father, tell him of this. I’ll have this knot knit up tomorrow morning. JULIET. I gave thee