CAPULET. A fortnight and odd days. NURSE. Even or odd, of all these hideous fears, And madly play with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle sin is purg’d. [_Kissing her._] JULIET. Then have at you with an R. NURSE. Ah, well-a-day, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone. Alack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead! CAPULET. Ha! Let me stand here till thou hast shown Doth add more grief to too much for his love.