will endite him to some supper. MERCUTIO. A challenge, on my life hath stol’n him home to bed. BENVOLIO. He ran this way, and leap’d this orchard wall: Call, good Mercutio. MERCUTIO. Nay, I’ll conjure too. Romeo! Humours! Madman! Passion! Lover! Appear thou in the night; And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes: This is as’t should be. Let me peruse this face. Mercutio’s kinsman, noble County Paris! What said my man,