Enter old Capulet, his wife and Paris.
CAPULET:
Things have fall'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.
PARIS:
These times of woe afford no times 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.
<Paris offers to go in, and Capulet calls him again.>
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,
A' 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, a' 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 late
That we may call it early by and by,