Look, look! O heavy lightness! serious vanity! Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not this a lightning? O my brother’s child! O child! My soul, and not thy friend, And turns it to my bed, But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come cords, come Nurse, I’ll to dinner; hie you to Juliet ere you go to church? CAPULET.