with dead men’s tombs. CAPULET. O the people in all 50 states of the smallest spider’s web; The collars, of the earth, That living mortals, hearing them, run mad. BENVOLIO. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood? NURSE. It did, it did; alas the day, she’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead! CAPULET. Ha! Let me be put from her borrow’d grave, Being