PARIS: Sweet flower, tonight I spread flowers on your bridal bed.
Oh, woe! Your canopy is dust and stones.
Every night, I will anoint this tomb with sweet water.
Or, failing that, I will use my own tears. My nightly ritual shall be to strew flowers on your grave and weep.
The boy's warning! Someone approaches!
He comes with a torch! Darkness, hide me a while. Whose cursed feet wander this way to ruin my rituals of true love?
ROMEO: Give me that pickaxe and the crowbar. Take this letter. Early in the morning, deliver it to my father. Give me the torch.