Datasets:
DioLiu
/
Test3

Dataset card Data Studio Files
xet
Community
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63
LADY CAPULET:
What noise is here?
Nurse:
O lamentable day!
LADY CAPULET:
What is the matter?
Nurse:
Look, look! O heavy day!
LADY CAPULET:
O me, O me! My child, my only life,
Revive, look up, or I will die with thee!
Help, help! Call help.
CAPULET:
For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come.
Nurse:
She's dead, deceased, 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.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Come, is the bride ready to go to church?
CAPULET:
Ready to go, but never to return.
O son! the night before thy wedding-day
Hath Death lain with thy wife. 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; life, living, all is Death's.
PARIS:
Have I thought long to see this morning's face,
And doth it give me such a sight as this?
LADY CAPULET:
Accursed, unhappy, wretched, hateful day!
Most miserable hour that e'er time saw
In lasting labour of his pilgrimage!
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight!
Nurse:
O woe! O woful, woful, woful day!
Most lamentable day, most woful day,
That ever, ever, I did yet behold!
O day! O day! O day! O hateful day!
Never was seen so black a day as this:
O woful day, O woful day!
PARIS:
Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain!
Most detestable death, by thee beguil'd,
By cruel cruel thee quite overthrown!
O love! O life! not life, but love in death!
CAPULET:
Despised, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!
Uncomfortable time, why camest thou now
To murder, murder our solemnity?
O child! O child! my soul, and not my child!
Dead art thou! Alack! my child is dead;
And with my child my joys are buried.
FRIAR LAURENCE:
Peace, ho, for shame! confusion's cure lives not
In these confusions. Heaven and yourself
Had part in this fair maid; now heaven hath all,
And all the better is it for the maid:
Your part in her you could not keep from death,
But heaven keeps his part in eternal life.
The most you sought was her promotion;
For 'twas your heaven she should be advanced:
And weep ye now, seeing she is advanced