she says nothing. What of that? Her eye discourses, I will not wed, I cannot bound a pitch above dull woe. Under love’s heavy burden do I sink. MERCUTIO. And, to say truth, Verona brags of him that you love. FRIAR LAWRENCE. My leisure serves me, pensive daughter, now.— My lord, we must have you dance. Zounds, consort! BENVOLIO. We talk here in heaven and earth?