"Nay," Mercutio says, for a moment enjoying the gentle pressure on his back; but then he's grinning again, seemingly as careless as ever. "'Tis but a dream, as I have told thee time and again; and thou hast seen what love may do to a man. Better to have done with it and flit about, like yon butterfly, or hummingbird, that may go from flower to flower and be gone."