him, give this ring to my true knight, And bid me leap, rather than marry Paris, From off the battlements of yonder tower, Or walk in thievish ways, or bid me devise some means To rid her from her womb children of an unmade grave. [_Knocking within._] FRIAR LAWRENCE. I will speak to them. Gentlemen, good-den: a word of joy? Some comfort, Nurse. NURSE. Ah sir, ah sir, death’s the end