Cap.
Things have fal'n 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.

Par.
These times of woe afford no time to wooe:
Madam, good night; commend me to your daughter.

La. Cap.
I will, and know her Mind early to morrow:
To night she's mew'd up to her heaviness.

Cap.
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 e're you go to bed;
Acquaint her here with my son Paris' love,
And bid her, mark you me, on Wednesday next,—
But, soft; what day is this?

Par.
Monday, my lord.

Cap.
Monday? ha! ha! well, Wednesday is too soon,
On 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 a-do—a friend or two—
For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late,
It may be thought we held him carelesly,
Being our kinsman, if we revel much:
Therefore we'll have some half a dozen friends,
And there's an end. But what say you to Thursday?

Par.
My lord, I would that Thursday were to morrow.

Cap.
Well, get you gone—on Thursday be it then:
Go you to Juliet ere you go to bed, [To lady Cap.
Prepare her, wife, against this wedding-day.
Farewel, my lord—light to my chamber, hoa!

'Fore me, it is so very late, that we
May call it early by and by. Good night. [Exeunt.

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