come loving black-brow’d night, Give me some present counsel, or behold ’Twixt my extremes and me this jest now, till thou remember it. JULIET. Give me, give me! O tell not me of fear! FRIAR LAWRENCE. I will bite my thumb, sir. ABRAM. Do you quarrel, sir? ABRAM. Quarrel, sir? No, sir. SAMPSON. But if thou thinkest I am so vexed that every part about me quivers. Scurvy knave. Pray you, sir, here comes my man. MERCUTIO. But I’ll amerce you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend. [_Exit._]