Act III, Scene 4

A room in Capulet’s house

[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 tender Of my child's love: I think she will be ruled 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, 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]