Romeo and Juliet

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 tune 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. 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? Paris. Monday, my lord. Capulet. Monday! ha, ha! Well, Wednesday is too soon, 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: 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.] Scene V. An open Gallery to Juliet's Chamber, overlooking the Garden. [Enter Romeo and Juliet.] Juliet. Wilt thou be gone? it is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. Romeo. It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die. Juliet. Yond light is not daylight, I know it, I: It is some meteor that the sun exhales To be to thee this night a torch-bearer And light thee on the way to Mantua: Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not to be gone. Romeo. Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say yon gray is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Nor that is not the lark whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay than will to go.-- Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so.-- How is't, my soul? let's talk,--it is not day. Juliet. It is, it is!--hie hence, be gone, away! It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords and unpleasing sharps. Some say the lark makes sweet division; This doth not so, for she divideth us: Some say the lark and loathed toad change eyes; O, now I would they had chang'd voices too! Since arm from arm that voice doth us affray, Hunting thee hence with hunt's-up to the day. O, now be gone; more light and light it grows. Romeo. More light and light,--more dark and dark our woes! [Enter Nurse.] Nurse. Madam! Juliet. Nurse? Nurse. Your lady mother is coming to your chamber: The day is broke; be wary, look about. [Exit.] Juliet. Then, window, let day in, and let life out. Romeo. Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend. [Descends.] Juliet. Art thou gone so? my lord, my love, my friend! I must hear from thee every day i' the hour, For in a minute there are many days: O, by this count I shall be much in years Ere I again behold my Romeo! Romeo. Farewell! I will omit no opportunity That may convey my greetings, love, to thee. Juliet. O, think'st thou we shall ever meet again? Romeo. I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve For sweet discourses in our time to come. Juliet. O God! I have an ill-divining soul! Methinks I see thee, now thou art below, As one dead in the bottom of a tomb: Either my eyesight fails, or thou look'st pale. Romeo. And trust me, love, in my eye so do you: Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu! [Exit below.] Juliet. O fortune, fortune! all men call thee fickle: If thou art fickle, what dost thou with him That is renown'd for faith? Be fickle, fortune; For then, I hope, thou wilt not keep him long But send him back. Lady Capulet. [Within.] Ho, daughter! are you up? Juliet. Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? Is she not down so late, or up so early? What unaccustom'd cause procures her hither? [Enter Lady Capulet.] Lady Capulet. Why, how now, Juliet? Juliet. Madam, I am not well. Lady Capulet. Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? An if thou couldst, thou couldst not make him live; Therefore have done: some grief shows much of love; But much of grief shows still some want of wit.