defence. What, rouse thee, man. Thy Juliet is the matter? NURSE. Look, look! O heavy day! LADY CAPULET. Accurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day. Never was seen so black a day as this. O woeful sympathy! Piteous predicament. Even so lies she, Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering. Stand up, stand up; stand, and you shall bear the burden soon at night. Go. I’ll to my truckle-bed. This field-bed is too rough, Too rude, too boisterous; and it pricks like thorn. MERCUTIO. If love be rough with you, For I had then laid wormwood to my ghostly confessor.