Rom. I so I feare, the more is my vnrest
Cap. Nay Gentlemen prepare not to be gone,
We haue a trifling foolish Banquet towards:
Is it e'ne so? why then I thanke you all.
I thanke you honest Gentlemen, good night:
More Torches here: come on, then let's to bed.
Ah sirrah, by my faie it waxes late,
Ile to my rest
Iuli. Come hither Nurse,
What is yond Gentleman:
Nur. The Sonne and Heire of old Tyberio
Iuli. What's he that now is going out of doore?
Nur. Marrie that I thinke be young Petruchio
Iul. What's he that follows here that would not dance?
Nur. I know not
Iul. Go aske his name: if he be married,
My graue is like to be my wedded bed
Nur. His name is Romeo, and a Mountague,
The onely Sonne of your great Enemie
Iul. My onely Loue sprung from my onely hate,
Too early seene, vnknowne, and knowne too late,
Prodigious birth of Loue it is to me,
That I must loue a loathed Enemie
Nur. What's this? whats this?
Iul. A rime, I learne euen now
Of one I dan'st withall.
One cals within, Iuliet.