Tut! I have lost myself; I am not here:
This is not Romeo, he's some other where.

Benvolio.
Tell me in sadness who is that you love?

Romeo.
What, shall I groan and tell thee?

Benvolio.
Groan! why, no;
But sadly tell me who.

Romeo.
Bid a sick man in sadness make his will,--
Ah, word ill urg'd to one that is so ill!--
In sadness, cousin, I do love a woman.

Benvolio.
I aim'd so near when I suppos'd you lov'd.

Romeo.
A right good markman!--And she's fair I love.

Benvolio.
A right fair mark, fair coz, is soonest hit.

Romeo.
Well, in that hit you miss: she'll not be hit
With Cupid's arrow,--she hath Dian's wit;