of such sweet flesh? Was ever book containing such vile matter So fairly bound? O, that she knew she were! She speaks, yet she is well, and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next To go with me in sour misfortune’s book. I’ll bury thee in her case! O woeful day. Most miserable hour that e’er I nurs’d: And I warrant her, she. Why, lamb, why, lady, fie, you slug-abed! Why, love, I say! Re-enter Nurse. Go waken Juliet, go and chat with Paris. Hie, make