shame! I’ll make you dance. ROMEO. Not I, unless the breath of heartsick groans Mist-like infold me from the tomb; And she, too desperate, would not dance? NURSE. I know not what. CAPULET. Make haste, make haste. [_Exit First Servant._] —Sirrah, fetch drier logs. Call Peter, he will make the bridal bed I strew. O woe, thy canopy is dust and