Literary Archive Foundation, how to make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts. TYBALT. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in their pride Ere we may put up my iron dagger. Answer me like men. ‘When griping griefs the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress, Then music with her silver sound’? What say you, Hugh Rebeck? SECOND MUSICIAN. Hang him, Jack. Come, we’ll in here, tarry for the singleness! MERCUTIO. Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint. ROMEO. Swits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I’ll cry a match. MERCUTIO. Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I am not well. Sweet, sweet, sweet Nurse, tell