Not MY Mate
Juliet looks back at him and cups his face before reciting:
"It was the lark, the herald of the morn,
No nightingale. Look, love, what envious streak;
Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east.
Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.
I must be gone and live, or stay and die."
“Shakespeare wrote the best love story and the greatest tragedy in the same play,” Hank tells her, kissing her shoulder.
“I don’t want to leave,” Juliet tells him.
“Then don’t. Run away from him. My pack will defend you,” Hank promises.
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