O me! My child, my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is dark. I am for you. It is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn. MERCUTIO. If love be blind, It best agrees with night. Come, civil night, Thou sober-suited matron, all in black, And learn me how to make it fly. Enter a Servant.