Mistress! What, mistress! Juliet!—Fast, I warrant her, she.— Why, lamb! Why, lady! Fie, you slug-a-bed. Why, love, I say. Madam! Sweet-heart! Why, bride! What, not a word? You take your pennyworths now. Sleep for a week, for the next night, I warrant, The County Paris hath set up his rest That you shall rest but little.—God forgive me, Marry, and amen. How sound is she asleep! I must needs wake her.—Madam, madam, madam! Ay, let the county take you in your bed. He’ll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be? (opens the bed curtains) What, dressed and in your clothes, and down again? I must needs wake you. Lady, lady, lady!— Alas, alas! Help, help! My lady’s dead!—