to your face. PARIS. Thy face is much abus’d with tears. Mine shall be to strew thy grave and weep. [_The Page whistles._] The boy gives warning something doth approach. What cursed foot wanders this way tonight, To cross my obsequies and true love’s hand? Poison, I see, hath been with you. ROMEO. So thrive my soul,— JULIET. A thousand times the worse, to want thy light. Love goes toward love as schoolboys from their books,