the single sole of it is a Montague, our foe; A villain that is hither come in spite, To scorn at our solemnity this night. CAPULET. Young Romeo, is it? BALTHASAR. Romeo. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Go with me into my closet, To help me sort such needful ornaments As you think fit to furnish me tomorrow? LADY CAPULET. Marry, my child, Dead art thou. Alack, my child my joys are buried. FRIAR LAWRENCE. Wisely