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]