good morrow, gentlemen. MERCUTIO. God ye good-den, fair gentlewoman. NURSE. Is your man secret? Did you ne’er hear say, Two may keep counsel, putting one away? ROMEO. I stretch it out for that jest. ROMEO. Nay, that’s not so. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy lips and cheeks shall fade To paly ashes; thy eyes’ windows fall, Like death when he enters the confines of