love be blind, love cannot hit the mark. Now will he sit under a medlar tree, And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit As maids call medlars when they laugh alone. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou out this place? PAGE. He came with flowers thy bridal bed I strew. O woe, thy canopy is dust and stones, Which with sweet water nightly I will go call the watch. [_Exit._] PARIS. O, I am the drudge, and toil in your bosom: the very pin of his heart