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ROMEO AND JULIET. 117 

Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change, 
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, 
And all things change them to the contrary. 

Friar Laurence. Sir, go you in, —and, madam, go with 
him ; — 
And go, Sir Paris ; — every one prepare 
To follow this fair corse unto her grave. 
The heavens do lower upon you for some ill ; 
Move them no more by crossing their high will. 

[Exeunt Capulet, Lady Capidet, Paris, and Friar. 

1 Musician. Faith, we may put up our pipes, and be 
gone. 

Nurse. Honest good fellows, ah, put up, put up ; 
Tor, well you know, this is a pitiful case. \_Exit. 

1 Musician. Ay, by my troth, the case may be amended. 

Enter Peter. 

Peter. Musicians, 0, musicians, 'Heart's ease. Heart's 
ease : ' 0, an you will have me live, play ' Heart's ease.' 

1 Musician. Why "^ Heart's ease ' ? 

Peter. 0, musicians, because my heart itself plays 'My 
heart is full of woe : ' 0, play me some merry dump, to 
comfort me. 

1 Musician. Not a dump we ; 'tis no time to play now. 

Peter. You will not, then ? 

1 Musician. No. 

Peter. I will then give it you soundly.