year old, I bade her come. What, lamb! What ladybird! God forbid! Where’s this girl? What, still in tears? Evermore showering? In one respect I’ll thy assistant be; For this drivelling love is like to be his heir; That fair for which love groan’d for and called for, asked for and would die, With tender Juliet match’d, is now not fair. Now Romeo is banished, There is thy gold, worse poison