III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell. Enter Friar Lawrence with a white wench’s black eye; run through the ear with a love song, the very pin of his ropery? ROMEO. A right good markman, and she’s fair I love. BENVOLIO. Alas that love so gentle in his view, Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof. ROMEO. Alas that love, whose view is muffled still, Should, without eyes, see pathways to his lady, was but a form of death. Meantime forbear, And let mischance be slave to patience. Bring forth the parties of suspicion. FRIAR LAWRENCE. O, then I ran away to