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Romeo and Juliet Act 4
You say you do not know the lady's mind. Uneven is the course; I like it not.
Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, and therefore have I little talked of love;
Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks
You shall have none ill, sir; for I'll try if they can lick their fingers
What, are you busy, ho? Need you my help?
So please you, let me now be left alone, And let the nurse this night sit up with you;
Hold, take these keys and fetch more spices, nurse.
They call for dates and quinces in the pastry.
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