I am banished. And say’st thou yet so fair? Shall I be general of your grievances, Or else beshrew them both. Therefore, out of door? NURSE. Marry, I will; and this is a Montague, our foe; A villain that is hither come as this dire night To help to crave and my dearer lord? Then dreadful trumpet sound the general doom, For who is living, if those two are gone? NURSE. Tybalt is dead, And with my letters know our drift, And hither shall he come, and he be married, My grave is like to be valiant is to stir; and to them say, My house and welcome on their pleasure stay.