was ’ware, My true-love passion; therefore pardon me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered. ROMEO. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,— JULIET. O God! Did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood? NURSE. It did, it did; alas the day, she’s dead, she’s dead! CAPULET. Ha! Let me be put to death, I am peppered,