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ROMEO AND JULIET. 79 

Your tributary drops belong to Avoe, 

Which you mistaking offer up to joy. 

My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain ; 

And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband : 

All this is comfort ; wherefore weep I then ? 

Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, 

That murder'd me. I would forget it fain ; 

But, 0, it presses to my memory. 

Like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds : 

* Tybalt is dead, and Romeo — banished ! ' 

That 'banished,' that one word 'banished,' 

Hath slain ten thousand Tybalts. Tybalt's death 

Was woe enough, if it had ended there ; 

Or, if sour woe delights in fellowship 

And needly will be rank'd with other griefs. 

Why follow'd not, when she said Tybalt's dead, 

Thy father, or thy mother, nay, or both. 

Which modern lamentation might have mov'd ? 

But with a rearward following Tybalt's death, 

Romeo is banished ! — to speak that word, 

Is father, mother, Tybalt, Romeo, Juliet, 

All slain, all dead. Romeo is banished ! 

There is no end, no limit, measure, bound. 

In that word's death ; no words can that woe sound. — 

Where is my father, and my mother, nurse ? 

Nurse. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse. 
Will you go to them ? I will bring you thither.