She’s dead, deceas’d, she’s dead; alack the day!
LADY CAPULET.
Alack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead!
CAPULET.
Ha! Let me see her. Out alas! She’s cold,
Her blood is settled and her joints are stiff.
Life and these lips have long been separated.
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
NURSE.
O lamentable day!
LADY CAPULET.
O woful time!
CAPULET.
Death, that hath ta’en her hence to make me wail,
Ties up my tongue and will not let me speak.
Enter Friar Lawrence and Paris with Musicians.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
CAPULET.