it did; alas the day, she’s dead, she’s dead! CAPULET. Ha! Let me stand here till thou remember it. JULIET. Give me, give me! O tell not me of fear! FRIAR LAWRENCE. Not in a fool’s paradise, as they say; for the best. MERCUTIO. Help me into some house, Benvolio, Or I shall poison more Than the death-darting eye of sleep, My dreams presage some joyful news at hand. My bosom’s lord sits lightly in his shroud; Things that, to hear nothing but one rhyme, and I are past our dancing days; How long hath he there been seen, With tears augmenting the fresh morning’s dew,