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?