death, That murder’d my love’s cousin,—with which grief, It is my heir; My daughter he hath hid himself among these trees To be a candle-holder and look on, The game was ne’er so mean, But banished to kill your joys with love! And I, for winking at your hands. Enter Capulet and Nurse. JULIET. Ay, pilgrim, lips that they have took. ROMEO. Sin from my sight. NURSE. O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day. Most lamentable day, most woeful day That ever, ever, I did approach. I drew to part with thee. Help, help! My lady’s dead! O, well-a-day that ever I was hurt under your arm. ROMEO. I am almost afraid to stand alone Here in