Nurse. Goe Gyrle, seeke happie nights to happy daies.
Exeunt.
Enter Romeo, Mercutio, Benuolio, with fiue or sixe other Maskers,
Torch-bearers.
Rom. What shall this spech be spoke for our excuse?
Or shall we on without Apologie?
Ben. The date is out of such prolixitie,
Weele haue no Cupid, hood winkt with a skarfe,
Bearing a Tartars painted Bow of lath,
Skaring the Ladies like a Crow-keeper.
But let them measure vs by what they will,
Weele measure them with a Measure, and be gone
Rom. Giue me a Torch, I am not for this ambling.
Being but heauy I will beare the light