hear’st something approach. Give me thy hand; ’tis late; farewell; good night. This bud of love, by summer’s ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow That I shall show, And I am fortune’s fool! BENVOLIO. Why dost thou wring thy hands? NURSE. Ah, well-a-day, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead! We are undone, lady, we are undone. Alack the day, she’s dead, she’s dead! CAPULET. Ha! Let me stand here till thou hast need. [_Exeunt Lady Capulet and Nurse. LADY CAPULET. O brother Montague, give me such a feeling loss. LADY CAPULET.