My Juliet, poisoned, in this church-yard lies;
And I, poor silly fellow!—I—I—cries.
I’ll weep no more, but to my Juliet flee.
Knocks down gravestone at head of Juliet.
Get out, you pale-faced slab, make way for me!
Enter Mercutio, R.
Mer. Halloo, my gallant youth, is that the way
You with old Capulet’s costly marbles play?
Rom. What wretch art thou that thus beseemst the night?
Mer. Why, wretch yourself! it seems to me you’re tight.