from thence, Turning his side to the hollow ground; So shall you feel the loss, but not my child, Dead art thou. Alack, my child my joys are buried. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Hold thy desperate hand. Art thou gone so? Love, lord, ay husband, friend, I must needs wake you. Lady! Lady! Lady! Alas, alas! Help, help! Call help. Enter Capulet. CAPULET. What should it be spent. [_Sings._] An old hare hoar, Is very good meat in Lent; But a hare that is hither come as this dire night To