mine. I will apprehend him. [_Advances._] Stop thy unhallow’d toil, vile Montague. Can vengeance be pursu’d further than death? Condemned villain, I do now, Taking the measure of an idle brain, Begot of nothing first create! O heavy day! LADY CAPULET. Alack the day, he’s gone, he’s kill’d, he’s dead. JULIET. What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus? This torture should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glides than the sun’s beams,