Page: I am almost afraid to stand alone
Here in the churchyard. Yet I will adventure.
(Page retires and Paris covers the tomb with flowers.)
Paris: Sweet flower, with flowers your bridal bed I cover,
O woe, your canopy is dust and stones,
Which with sweet water nightly I will dew,
Or, lacking that, with tears distilled by moans.
(Page whistles.)
The boy gives warning something does approach.
What cursed foot wanders this way tonight,
To disturb my offerings and true love’s rite?
What, with a torch? Hide me, night, shortly.
(Paris retires.)