Laura, to his lady, was but a kitchen wench (marry, she had a
better love to berhyme her), Dido a dowdy,
Cleopatra
a gypsy,
Helen and Hero hildings and harlots, This be a gray eye or so,
but not to the purpose.
Shakespeare
Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes- these
new tuners of accent! 'By Jesu, a very good blade! a very tall
man! a very good whore!' Why, is not this a lamentable thing,
grandsir, that we should be thus afflicted with these strange
flies, these fashion-mongers, these pardona-mi's, who stand so
much on the new form that they cannot sit at ease on the old
bench? O, their bones, their bones!
Enter Romeo.
Ben. Here comes Romeo! here comes Romeo!
Mer. 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 berhyme her), Dido a dowdy,
Cleopatra
a gypsy,
Helen and Hero hildings and harlots, This be a gray eye or so,
but not to the purpose.
Signior Romeo, bon jour! There's a French
salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit
fairly last night.
Rom. Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?
Mer. The slip, sir, the slip. Can you not conceive?
Rom. Pardon, good Mercutio. My business was great, and in such a
case as mine a man may strain courtesy.
Mer. That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a
man to bow in the hams.
Rom.
