[Enter Nurse and Peter.]
MERCUTIO.
A sail, a sail, a sail!
BENVOLIO.
Two, two; a shirt and a smock.
NURSE.
Peter!
PETER.
Anon.
NURSE.
My fan, Peter.
MERCUTIO.
Good Peter, to hide her face; for her fan's the fairer face.
NURSE.
God ye good morrow, gentlemen.
MERCUTIO.
God ye good-den, fair gentlewoman.
NURSE.
Is it good-den?
MERCUTIO.
'Tis no less, I tell ye; for the bawdy hand of the dial is
now upon the prick of noon.
NURSE.
Out upon you! what a man are you!
ROMEO.
One, gentlewoman, that God hath made for himself to mar.
NURSE.
By my troth, it is well said; — for himself to mar, quoth
'a? — Gentlemen, can any of you tell me where I may find the young
Romeo?
