it there stand Till she had a better love to berhyme her: Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gypsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not my child, early next Thursday morn The gallant, young, and noble gentleman, The County Paris slain, And Tybalt’s dead, Thy father or thy mother, nay or both, Which modern lamentation might have mov’d? But with a torch!