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    Act 3. Scene IV

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    Chapter 17
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    SCENE IV. 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
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