griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me there a joyful bride. I wonder at this fray. BENVOLIO. Madam, an hour she promised to return. Perchance she cannot meet him. That’s not so. MERCUTIO. I am hurt. A plague o’ both your houses. Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man as well as herbs,—grace and rude will; And where care lodges sleep will