For men so old as we to keep the peace.
Paris. Of honourable [reckoning] are you both,
And pity 'tis you liv'd at odds so long.
But now, my lord, what say you to my suit?
Capulet. But saying o'er what I have said before.
My child is yet a stranger in the world;
She hath not seen the change of [fourteen years].
Let two more summers wither in their pride
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.
Paris. Younger than she are happy mothers made.