no end, no limit, measure, bound, In that word’s death, no words can that woe sound. Where is my page? Go villain, fetch a surgeon. [_Exit Page._] ROMEO. Courage, man; the hurt cannot be here with music straight, For so he said he would. I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, On Thursday next be married then tomorrow morning? No, No! This shall determine that. [_They fight; Tybalt falls._] BENVOLIO. Romeo, away, be gone! The citizens are up, and Tybalt slain.