Romeo and Juliet

Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, And young affection gapes to be his heir; That fair for which love groan’d for and would die, With tender Juliet match’d, is now not fair. This cannot anger him. ’Twould anger him To raise a spirit in his mistress’ circle, Of some strange nature, letting it there stand Till she had laid it, and conjur’d it down; That were some spite. This day’s black fate on mo days doth depend; This but begins the woe others must end. Tybalt’s death Was woe enough, if it had ended there.