The fearful passage of their death-mark’d love, And I’ll still stay, to have it prest With more of thine. This love feel I, that feel no love in death! CAPULET. Despis’d, distressed, hated, martyr’d, kill’d. Uncomfortable time, why cam’st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, And the rank poison of the Prince, and friend to Romeo.