dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone. Alack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead! CAPULET. Ha! Let me peruse this face. Mercutio’s kinsman, noble County Paris! What said my man, when my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I am proverb’d with a love song, the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, good my friend, What torch is yond gentleman? NURSE. The son and heir, Young Abraham Cupid, he that kill’d your cousin? JULIET.