ACT III.
4. Scene IV. A Room in Capulet's House.
 
[Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris.] 
 
Capulet.
 
Things have fallen out, sir, so unluckily
 
That we have had no time to move our daughter:
 
Look you, she lov'd 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 tune to woo.--
 
Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter. 
 
Lady Capulet.
 
I will, and know her mind early to-morrow;
 
To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness. 
 
Capulet.
 
Sir Paris, I will make a desperate tender
 
Of my child's love: I think she will be rul'd
 
In 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,
 
Thursday let it be;--a 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.] 
 
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