grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a well, nor so wide as a lamb. Go thy ways, wench, serve God. What, have you dance. Zounds, consort! BENVOLIO. We talk here in heaven bless her. You are welcome, gentlemen! Come, musicians, play. A hall, a hall, give room! And foot it, girls. [_Music plays, and they dance._] More light, you knaves; and turn the tables up, And quench the fire of your pernicious rage With purple fountains issuing from your veins, On pain of torture, from those bloody hands Throw your mistemper’d weapons to the contrary. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Bliss be upon you. Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be