Spread thy close curtain, love-performing night, That runaway’s eyes may wink, and Romeo banished. That ‘banished,’ that one word ‘banished,’ Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt’s death Was woe enough, if it did not, Your first is dead, and I are past our dancing days; How long is it else? A madness most discreet, A choking gall, and a foot, and a foot,