What ho, Benvolio.

Dear Frederick, here,

Half smothered in a lake of mud and dirt,

Through which the Furies dragged me by the heels.

O misery! How now, Benvolio?

Nay, fear not, man; we have no power to kill.

Nay, chafe not man; we all are sped.

What shall we then do, dear Benvolio?