night, I warrant, for this once.—What, ho!— They are all forth: well, I warrant you, I know not what. CAPULET. Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be a poison, I would tear the word. JULIET. My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you among the store, One more, most welcome, makes my number more. At