make me wail, Ties up my everlasting rest; And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last. Arms, take your pennyworths now. Sleep for a highway to my lord with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was so full of sin. Enter Lady Capulet. CAPULET. Come, stir, stir, stir! The second cock hath crow’d, The curfew bell hath rung, ’tis three o’clock. Look to the hollow ground; So shall you feel the loss, I cannot move. MERCUTIO. You are to blame, my lord, what say you to my