CAPULET: All the things we prepared for this festival must now serve us at a funeral.
Our instruments turn to melancholy bells, our banquet to a burial feast. Our ceremonial hymns change to gloomy dirges, and our bridal flowers now cover a buried corpse.
Everything will now serve the opposite of its intended purpose.
FRIAR LAWRENCE: Sir, go in, and madam, go with him. And you, Sir Paris. Prepare yourselves to follow this fair corpse to her grave.
The heavens threaten and scowl at you for some past sin. Don't disturb them further by crossing them again.
MUSICIAN: Well, we can put away our pipes and be gone.