Shall I speak ill of him that is my husband? Ah, poor my lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name, When I, thy three-hours wife, have mangled it? But, wherefore, villain, didst thou kill my cousin? That villain cousin would have kill'd my husband
Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring: Your tributary drops belong to woe, Which you, mistaking, offer up to joy.
My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: All this is comfort;