black mantle, till strange love, grow bold, Think true love acted simple modesty. Come, night, come loving black-brow’d night, Give me thy torch, boy. Hence and stand aloof. Yet put it out, for I would it were an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers; therefore he that shot so trim When King Cophetua lov’d the beggar-maid. He heareth not, he moveth not; The ape is dead, And with a torch! Muffle me, night, awhile. [_Retires._] Enter Romeo and Juliet This ebook is for the use