Benvolio.
An if he hear thee, thou wilt anger him.

Mercutio.
This cannot anger him: 'twould anger him
To raise a spirit in his mistress' circle,
Of some strange nature, letting it there stand
Till she had laid it, and conjur'd it down;
That were some spite: my invocation
Is fair and honest, and, in his mistress' name,
I conjure only but to raise up him.

Benvolio.
Come, he hath hid himself among these trees,
To be consorted with the humorous night:
Blind is his love, and best befits the dark.

Mercutio.
If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark.
Now will he sit under a medlar tree,
And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit
As maids call medlars when they laugh alone.--
Romeo, good night.--I'll to my truckle-bed;
This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep:
Come, shall we go?

Benvolio.
Go then; for 'tis in vain
To seek him here that means not to be found.