Benvolio think they might be late for the party because the wind is blowing them off course.
This wind you talk of, blows us from ourselves. Supper is done, and we shall come too late.
I'm not so sure...
I still think we're gonna be late
I fear too early, for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night’s revels, and expire the term Of a despisèd life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But he that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail. On, lusty gentlemen.
Romeo thinks they might arrive too early. He also fears that he will be killed at the party, because it is a Capulet party, and he is a Montague