CAPULET.
O heaven! O wife, look how our daughter bleeds!
This dagger hath mista’en, for lo, his house
Is empty on the back of Montague,
And it mis-sheathed in my daughter’s bosom.
LADY CAPULET.
O me! This sight of death is as a bell
That warns my old age to a sepulchre.
Enter Montague and others.
PRINCE.
Come, Montague, for thou art early up,
To see thy son and heir more early down.
MONTAGUE.
Alas, my liege, my wife is dead tonight.
Grief of my son’s exile hath stopp’d her breath.
What further woe conspires against mine age?
PRINCE.
Look, and thou shalt see.
MONTAGUE. O thou untaught! What manners is in this,