of wine. Rest you merry. [_Exit._] BENVOLIO. At thy good heart’s oppression. ROMEO. Why such is love’s transgression. Griefs of mine eye Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fire; And these who, often drown’d, could never die, Transparent heretics, be burnt for liars. One fairer than my love? The all-seeing sun Ne’er saw her fair, none else being by, Herself pois’d with herself in either eye: