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Had blown into her ears, I think they could not make

The sleeping wight before the time by any means awake;

So were the sprites of life shut up, and senses thralled;

Wherewith the seely careful nurse was wondrously appalled.

She thought to daw her now as she had done of old,

But lo, she found her parts were stiff and more than marble cold;

Neither at mouth nor nose found she recourse of breath;

Two certain arguments were these of her untimely death.

Wherefore, as one distraught, she to her mother ran,

With scratchéd face, and hair betorn, but no word speak she can,

At last, with much ado, "Dead," quoth she, "is my child!"

"Now, out, alas!" the mother cried, and as a tiger wild,

Whose whelps, whilst she is gone out of her den to prey,

The hunter greedy of his game doth kill or carry away;

So raging forth she ran unto her Juliet's bed,

And there she found her darling and her only comfort dead.

Then shrieked she out as loud as serve her would her breath,

And then, that pity was to hear, thus cried she out on Death:

"Ah cruel Death," quoth she, "that thus against all right,

Hast ended my felicity, and robbed my heart's delight,

Do now thy worst to me, once wreak thy wrath for all,

Even in despite I cry to thee, thy vengeance let thou fall.

Whereto stay I, alas, since Juliet is gone?

Whereto live I, since she is dead, except to wail and moan?

Alack, dear child, my tears for thee shall never cease;

Even as my days of life increase, so shall my plaint increase:

Such store of sorrow shall afflict my tender heart,

That deadly pangs, when they assail shall not augment my smart."

Then 'gan she so to sob, it seemed her heart would brast;

And while she crieth thus, behold, the father at the last,

The County Paris, and of gentlemen a rout,

And ladies of Verona town and country round about,

Both kindreds and allies thither apace have preast,

For by their presence there they sought to honour so the feast;

But when the heavy news the bidden guests did hear,

So much they mourned, that who had seen their count'nance and their cheer,

Might easily have judged by that that they had seen,

That day the day of wrath and eke of pity to have been.

But more than all the rest the father's heart was so

Smit with the heavy news, and so shut up with sudden woe,

That he ne had the power his daughter to be-weep,

Ne yet to speak, but long is forced his tears and plaint to keep.

In all the haste he hath for skilful leeches sent;

And, hearing of her passéd life, they judge with one assent

The cause of this her death was inward care and thought;

And then with double force again the doubled sorrows wrought.

If ever there hath been a lamentable day,

A day ruthful, unfortunate and fatal, then I say,

The same was it in which through Verone town was spread

The woeful news how Juliet was stervéd in her bed.

For so she was bemoaned both of the young and old,

That it might seem to him that would the common plaint behold,

That all the commonwealth did stand in jeopardy;

So universal was the plaint, so piteous was the cry.

For lo, beside her shape and native beauty's hue,

With which, like as she grew in age, her virtues' praises grew,

She was also so wise, so lowly, and so mild,

That even from the hoary head unto the witless child,

She wan the hearts of all, so that there was not one,

Ne great, ne small, but did that day her wretched state bemoan.

Whilst Juliet slept, and whilst the other weepen thus,

Our Friar Laurence hath by this sent one to Romeus,

A friar of his house, -- there never was a better,

He trusted him even as himself, -- to whom he gave a letter,

In which he written had of everything at length,

That passed 'twixt Juliet and him, and of the powder's strength;

The next night after that, he willeth him to come

To help to take his Juliet out of the hollow tomb,

For by that time the drink, he saith, will cease to work,

And for one night his wife and he within his cell shall lurk;

Then shall he carry her to Mantua away, --

Till fickle