Thou cutt'st my head off with a golden axe,
And smil'st upon the stroke that murthers me.
Friar Laurence. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness!
Thy fault our law calls death; but the kind prince,
Taking thy part, hath [rush'd aside the law],
And turn'd that black word death to banishment.
This is [dear mercy], and thou seest it not.
Romeo. 'Tis torture, and not mercy; [heaven is here],
Where Juliet lives, and every cat and dog
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,