Pa. Immoderately she weepes for Tybalts death,
And therfore haue I little talke of Loue,
For Venus smiles not in a house of teares.
Now sir, her Father counts it dangerous
That she doth giue her sorrow so much sway:
And in his wisedome, hasts our marriage,
To stop the inundation of her teares,
Which too much minded by her selfe alone,
May be put from her by societie.
Now doe you know the reason of this hast?
Fri. I would I knew not why it should be slow'd.
Looke sir, here comes the Lady towards my Cell.
Enter Iuliet.
Par. Happily met, my Lady and my wife
Iul. That may be sir, when I may be a wife
Par. That may be, must be Loue, on Thursday next
Iul. What must be shall be
Fri. That's a certaine text
Par. Come you to make confession to this Father?
Iul. To answere that, I should confesse to you
Par. Do not denie to him, that you Loue me
Iul. I will confesse to you that I Loue him
Par. So will ye, I am sure that you Loue me