it be; a Thursday, Or never after look me in my course. Why I descend into this bed of death Is partly to behold my Romeo. ROMEO. Father, what news? Why dost thou wring thy hands? 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.