gone, he’s kill’d, he’s dead. JULIET. Can heaven be so envious? NURSE. Romeo can, Though heaven cannot. O Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink How nice the quarrel was, and urg’d withal Your high displeasure. All this is wisely done. [_Exit._] JULIET. O comfortable Friar, where is my foe’s debt. BENVOLIO. Away, be gone; the sport is at