Capulet: Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail,
Ties up my tongue and will not let me speak.  

_Enter_ FRIAR LAURENCE _and_ PARIS _with_ Musicians  
Friar Laurence: Come, is the bride ready to go to church?  
Capulet: Ready to go, but never to return.--
O son! the night before thy wedding-day
Hath Death lain with thy wife. See, there she lies,
Flower as she was, deflowered by him.
Death is my son-in-law, Death is my heir;
My daughter he hath wedded. I will die,
And leave him all; life, living, all is Death's.  
Paris: Have I thought long to see this morning's face,
And doth it give me such a sight as this?  
Lady Capulet: Accurst, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
Most miserable hour that e'er time saw
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight!  
Nurse: O woe! O woful, woful, woful day!
Most lamentable day, most woful day,
That ever, ever, I did yet behold!
O day! O day! O day! O hateful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this!
O woful day, O woful day!  

Paris: Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
Most detestable Death, by thee beguiled,
By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown!
O love! O life! not life, but love in death!  
Capulet: Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, killed!
Uncomfortable time, why cam'st thou now
To murder, murder our solemnity?--
O child! O child! my soul, and not my child!
Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead;
And with my child my joys are buried.  

Friar Laurence: Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself

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