And by and by my master drew on him; Prince. This letter doth make good the friar's words, Their course of love, the tidings of her death: Came to this vault to die, and lie with Juliet. Cap. O brother Montague, give me thy hand: Mon. But I can give thee more: Cap. As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie; Poor sacrifices of our enmity! Prince. A glooming peace this morning with it brings ; The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head: Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things; Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished: For never was a story of more woe Than this of Juliet and her Romeo. [Exet |