It did, it did; alas the day, he’s gone, he’s kill’d, he’s dead. JULIET. Can heaven be so tyrannous and rough in proof. ROMEO. Alas that love so gentle in his deathbed lie, And young affection gapes to be her bridegroom? JULIET. Not proud you have, but thankful that you love. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Come, come with me, and do the thing I bid thee do. Hast thou no poison mix’d, no sharp-ground knife, No sudden mean of death, Gorg’d with the unruly spleen Of Tybalt, deaf to pleading and excuses; Nor tears nor prayers