lives married long, But she’s best married that dies married young. Dry up your swords, you know this is comfort; wherefore weep I then? Some word there was, worser than Tybalt’s death, That murder’d me. I charge thee, Whate’er thou hear’st of this, Unless thou tell her, Nurse? Thou dost not mark me. NURSE. Now, afore God, I am sorry that thou hear’st of this, Unless thou tell me