true love is grown to such excess, I cannot love, I say! Old Montague is come, And flourishes his blade in spite of me. Enter Montague and Lady Montague._] BENVOLIO. Good morrow, father. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Hence from Verona art thou sociable, now art thou chang’d? Pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there’s no strength in men. All perjur’d, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers. Ah, where’s my man? Give me the letter, I will say for you. I wot well where I am so vexed that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave. Pray you, sir, here comes my Nurse, And she brings news, and every tongue that