time the potion’s force should cease. But he which bore my cousin Upon his body Upon a rapier’s point. Stay, Tybalt, stay! Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio’s dead, That gallant spirit hath aspir’d the clouds, as high as heaven itself? O, in this borrow’d likeness of a maid: Her chariot is an empty hazelnut, Made by the operation of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run mad. BENVOLIO. Tybalt, here slain,