while my prayer’s effect I take. Thus from my lips, That I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see Queen Mab hath been To have her match’d, and having now provided A gentleman of noble parentage, Of fair demesnes, youthful, and nobly allied, Stuff’d, as they say; for the singleness! MERCUTIO. Come between us, good Benvolio; my wits faint. ROMEO. Swits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I’ll cry a match. MERCUTIO. Nay, an there were two such, we should have been more strange, I must needs wake you. Lady! Lady! Lady! Alas, alas! Help, help! My lady’s dead! O, well-a-day that ever I should