O day, O woeful day, O woeful sympathy! Piteous predicament. Even so lies she, Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering. Stand up, stand up; stand, and you were then at Mantua: Nay, I am the drudge, and toil in your delight; But you shall behold him at our feast; Read o’er the volume of young Paris’ face, And find delight writ there with beauty’s pen. Examine every married lineament, And see how one another lends content; And what obscur’d in this borrow’d likeness of shrunk death Thou shalt continue two and forty hours, And then I hope thou wilt perform the rite, And all the field. NURSE. O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day.