BENVOLIO.
Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo!
MERCUTIO.
Without his roe, like a dried herring. — O flesh, flesh, how art
thou fishified! — Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed
in: Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen wench, — marry, she had
a better love to be-rhyme her; Dido, a dowdy; Cleopatra, a gypsy;
Helen and Hero, hildings and harlots; Thisbe, a gray eye or so,
but not to the purpose, —
[Enter Romeo.]
Signior Romeo, bon jour! there's a French salutation to your
French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night.
ROMEO.
Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?
MERCUTIO.
The slip, sir, the slip; can you not conceive?
ROMEO.
Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in such a
case as mine a man may strain courtesy.
MERCUTIO.
That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a
man to bow in the hams.
ROMEO.
Meaning, to court'sy.
MERCUTIO.
Thou hast most kindly hit it.
ROMEO.
A most courteous exposition.
