O Romeo, Romeo, brave Mercutio is dead! / That gallant spirit hath aspired the clouds, / Which too untimely here did scorn the earth.
This day's black fate on moe days doth / depend; / This but begins the woe others must end.
Hie to your chamber. I'll find Romeo / To comfort you. I wot well where he is. / Hark ye, your Romeo will be here at night. / I'll to him; he is hid at Lawrence' cell.
O, find him! Give this ring to my true knight And bid him come to take his last farewell.
Go get thee thy love, as was decreed, / Ascend her chamber, hence and comfort her. / For then thou canst not pass to Mantua, / Where thou shalt live till we can find a time / Beg pardon of the Prince, and call thee back.
But that a joy past joy calls out on me, / It were a grief so brief to part with thee. Farewell.
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?
Monday, my lord.
Marry, my child,early next Thursday morn / The gallant, young, and noble gentlemen, / The County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church.
I pray you tell my lord and father, madam, / I will not marry yet; and when I do, I swear / It shall be Romeo, whom you know I hate, / Rather than Paris.