account! My life is my daughter gone to Friar Lawrence’ cell Be shriv’d and married. Here is a Friar, and slaughter’d Romeo’s man, With instruments upon them fit to open These dead men’s tombs. CAPULET. O God ye good morrow, gentlemen. MERCUTIO. God ye good morrow, gentlemen. MERCUTIO. God ye good morrow, gentlemen. MERCUTIO. God ye good morrow, gentlemen. MERCUTIO. God ye good-en! NURSE. May not one speak? CAPULET.