of honorable reckoning are you both, and pity 'tis you lived at odds so long.
but now, my lord, what say you to my suit?
younger than she are happy mothers made.
will you now deny to dance?
these times of woe afford no times to woo.
monday my lord.
my lord i.
my lord i.
i would that thursday were tomorrow.
now, sir, her father counts it
happily met, my lady and my wife.
that 'may be', must be, love, on thursday next.
come you to make confession?
god shield i should disturb devotion! - juliet, on thursday early will i rouse ye;
till then, adieu, and keep this holy kiss.