ROMEO: Men are often merry just before death—they say they experience a sort of lightening of their spirits.
Oh, how can this be a lightening? Oh my love, my wife!
Death has sucked the honey from your breath, but he has no power over your beauty. You have not been conquered. Your lips and cheeks are still crimson, not pale.
Tybalt, is that you there. lying in your bloody shroud?
Oh, what better favor can I do you than to kill the man who killed you, with the same hand that severed your youth?
Oh, forgive me, cousin!
Ah, dear Juliet, why are you still so fair? Should I believe that death is in love with you and that the monster keeps you here to be his mistress?
Fearing that, I will stay with you and never again leave this palace of night.