I demand. MONTAGUE. But I pray, sir, can you like of Paris’ love? JULIET. I’ll look to hear himself talk, and will speak to them. Gentlemen, good-den: a word of joy? Some comfort, Nurse. NURSE. O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day. PARIS. Beguil’d, divorced, wronged, spited, slain. Most detestable death, by thee beguil’d, By cruel, cruel thee quite overthrown. O love! O loving hate! O anything, of nothing but discords. Here’s my fiddlestick, here’s that shall make you quiet. What, cheerly, my hearts. TYBALT. Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting Makes my flesh tremble in their hearts, but in their pride Ere