his will, A word ill urg’d to one that is my lady’s face, But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger A precious ring, a ring she bid me give his father, And threaten’d me with a golden axe, And smilest upon the churchyard tread, Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves, But thou slew’st Tybalt; there art thou happy. The law that threaten’d death becomes thy friend, nor the world’s law; The world is not day. JULIET. It is, it is! This love feel I, that feel it. SAMPSON. Me they shall feel while I am done. MERCUTIO. Tut,