Act III · Scene IV
A room in Capulet's house.
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Enter CAPULET, LADY CAPULET, and PARIS
CAPULET
Things have fall'n out, sir, so unluckily,That we have had no time to move our daughter:Look you, she loved her kinsman Tybalt dearly,And so did I:--Well, we were born to die.'Tis very late, she'll not come down to-night:I promise you, but for your company,I would have been a-bed an hour ago.
PARIS
These times of woe afford no time to woo.Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter.
LADY CAPULET
I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;To-night she is mew'd up to her heaviness.
CAPULET
Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tenderOf my child's love: I think she will be ruledIn all respects by me; nay, more, I doubt it not.Wife, go you to her ere you go to bed;Acquaint her here of my son Paris' love;And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next--But, soft! what day is this?
PARIS
Monday, my lord,
CAPULET
Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon,O' Thursday let it be: o' Thursday, tell her,She shall be married to this noble earl.Will you be ready? do you like this haste?We'll keep no great ado,--a friend or two;For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,It may be thought we held him carelessly,Being our kinsman, if we revel much:Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,And there an end. But what say you to Thursday?
PARIS
My lord, I would that Thursday were to-morrow.
CAPULET
Well get you gone: o' Thursday be it, then.Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed,Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.Farewell, my lord. Light to my chamber, ho!Afore me! it is so very very late,That we may call it early by and by.Good night.
Exeunt