Scene IV. A Room in Capulet's House.
[Enter Capulet, Lady Capulet, and Paris.]
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?
