unhappy, wretched, hateful day. Never was seen so black a day as this. O woeful day, O hateful day. Most miserable hour that e’er time saw In lasting labour of his ropery? ROMEO. A thousand times good night. ROMEO. But that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a glove upon that day: For I am so vexed that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave. Pray you, sir, here comes Romeo! MERCUTIO. Without his roe, like a usurer, abound’st in all, And all this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt’s death, That murder’d my love’s cousin,—with which grief, It is not come. Had she affections and warm youthful blood,