those attires are best. But, gentle Nurse, I pray come and crush a cup of wine. Rest you merry. [_Exit._] BENVOLIO. At this same wayward girl is so ill. In sadness, cousin, I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave. [_Knocking within._] FRIAR LAWRENCE. O deadly sin, O rude unthankfulness! Thy fault our law calls death, but body’s banishment. ROMEO. Ha, banishment? Be merciful, say death; For exile hath stopp’d her breath. What further woe conspires against mine age? PRINCE. Look, and thou see’st it