Come, gentle night;--come, loving, black-brow'd night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night,
And pay no worship to the garish sun.--
O, I have bought the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it; and, though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy'd: so tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child that hath new robes,
And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse,
And she brings news; and every tongue that speaks
But Romeo's name speaks heavenly eloquence.--

[Enter Nurse, with cords.]

Now, nurse, what news? What hast thou there? the cords
That Romeo bid thee fetch?

Nurse.
Ay, ay, the cords.

[Throws them down.]

Juliet.
Ah me! what news? why dost thou wring thy hands?

Nurse.
Ah, well-a-day! he's dead, he's dead, he's dead!