Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
Shakespeare
Help, help! Call help.
Enter Father.
Father. For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.
Nurse. She's dead, deceas'd; she's dead! Alack the day!
Mother. Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead!
Cap. 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!
Mother. O woful time!
Cap. 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 the County [Paris], with Musicians.
Friar. Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
Cap. 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.
