BENVOLIO
The date is out of such prolixity:
We'll have no Cupid hoodwink'd with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar's painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;
Nor no without-book prologue, faintly spoke
After the prompter, for our entrance:
But let them measure us by what they will;
We'll measure them a measure, and be gone.
Maybe its cause I'm recovering from a cold, but this was actually a bit difficult to understand in Shakespeare's early modern English. The last two lines are pretty epic, though. Reminds me of "Childhood's End" by Pink Floyd.
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