Lady Capulet. Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead!
Capulet. Ha! let me see her. Out, alas! she's cold;
Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff;
Life and these lips have long been separated.
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
Nurse. O lamentable day!
Lady Capulet.O woful time!
Capulet. Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail,
Ties up my tongue and [will not let me speak].