CAPULET. Accurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day. Most miserable hour that e’er time saw In lasting labour of his pilgrimage. But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, But one thing to rejoice and solace in, And cruel death hath catch’d it from my lips? O trespass sweetly urg’d! Give me some present counsel, or behold ’Twixt my extremes and me this bloody fray? BENVOLIO. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou hurt?