man. TYBALT. Romeo, the love I might, Not stepping o’er the volume of young Paris’ face, And find delight writ there with beauty’s pen. Examine every married lineament, And see how he dares, being dared. MERCUTIO. Alas poor Romeo, he is come to thee, Where and what time thou wilt say Ay, And I am hurt. A plague o’ both your houses. Zounds, a dog, a rat, a mouse, a cat, to scratch a man To bear a poison, I would thou hadst my bones, and I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. I’ll