Mercutio: An' they head sir? How is't with thy head, pray?

Rapaire: Ah well...'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but 'tis enough, 'twill serve.

Mercutio: Oh, well said, an' you with such a lump. A finely turned line, well-formed, well-timed, and neat in image. An' thou permit I shall borrow it anon. Thy block shall never miss the taking of it.

Rapaire: For thy head, my foolish friend?

Mercutio: Oh, my head, or anything else most sore. I am to be wounded, I am told, in the next but one scene...