O God! I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art so low,
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb. Either my eyesight fails, or thou look’st pale.

ROMEO:
And trust me, love, in my eye so do you. Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu. [_Exit below._]

JULIET:
O Fortune, Fortune! All men call thee fickle, If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him
That is renown’d for faith? Be fickle, Fortune; For then, I hope thou wilt not keep him long But send him back.

LADY CAPULET:
[_Within._] Ho, daughter, are you up?

JULIET:
Who is’t that calls? Is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom’d cause procures her hither? Enter Lady Capulet.

LADY CAPULET:
Why, how now, Juliet?

JULIET:
Madam, I am not well.

LADY CAPULET:
Evermore weeping for your cousin’s death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?
And if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live. Therefore have done: some grief shows much of love, But much of grief shows still some want of wit.

JULIET:
Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.

LADY CAPULET:
So shall you feel the loss, but not the friend
Which you weep for.

JULIET:
Feeling so the loss, I cannot choose but ever weep the friend.

LADY CAPULET:
Well, girl, thou weep’st not so much for his death
As that the villain lives which slaughter’d him.

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