_Nurse._ O Lord, I could have stay'd here all the night To hear good counsel; O, what learning is!-- 160 My lord, I'll tell my lady you will come.
_Romeo._ Do so, and bid my sweet prepare to chide.
_Nurse._ Here, sir, a ring she bid me give you, sir; Hie you, make haste, for it grows very late. [_Exit._
_Romeo._ How well my comfort is reviv'd by this!
_Friar Laurence._ Go hence; good night; and here stands all your state: Either be gone before the watch be set, Or by the break of day disguis'd from hence. Sojourn in Mantua; I'll find out your man, And he shall signify from time to time 170 Every good hap to you that chances here. Give me thy hand; 'tis late: farewell; good night.
_Romeo._ But that a joy past joy calls out on me, It were a grief, so brief to part with thee. Farewell. [_Exeunt._
_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 time to woo.-- Madam, good night; commend me to your daughter.
_Lady Capulet._ I will, and know her mind early to-morrow; 10 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?
_Capulet._ Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon. O' Thursday let it be; o' Thursday, tell her, 20 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.-- 30 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 late, that we May call it early by and by.--Good night. [_Exeunt._