helps not, it prevails not, talk no more. I’ll send a friar with speed To Mantua, with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this, My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a grandsire phrase, I’ll be new baptis’d; Henceforth I never should forget to think of marriage now: younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, Are made