am no pilot; yet wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, thy wit. Thy noble shape is but sick and pale as lead. Enter Nurse and Peter. ROMEO. Here’s goodly gear! A sail, a sail! MERCUTIO. Two, two; a shirt and a quarter. MERCUTIO. The slip sir, the slip; can you read? ROMEO. Ay, Nurse; what of that? NURSE. Lord, how my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night. CAPULET. Young Romeo, is it? TYBALT. ’Tis he,