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Murder! The parents live whose children thou hast butcher'd, Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake! Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, In the division of each several crime, There lies the man, slain by young Romeo, I had a Rutland too, thou holp'st to kill him. If they do see thee, they will murder thee. But look'd not on the poison of their hearts: Have done a drunken slaughter, and defac'd With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, Provoke us hither now to slaughter thee.