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A street in the city of Verona. In the background, the fronts of houses and other buildings can be seen. |
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Enter CAPULET, PARIS, and SERVANT |
| Capulet |
But Montague is bound as well as I, |
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In penalty alike; and 'tis not hard, I think, |
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For men so old as we to keep the peace. |
| Paris |
Of honourable reckoning are you both; |
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And pity 'tis you lived at odds so long. |
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But now, my lord, what say you to my suit? |
| Capulet |
But saying o'er what I have said before: |
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My child is yet a stranger in the world; |
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She hath not seen the change of fourteen years, |
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Let two more summers wither in their pride, |
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Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride. |
| Paris |
Younger than she are happy mothers made. |
| Capulet |
And too soon marr'd are those so early made. |
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The earth hath swallow'd all my hopes but she, |
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She is the hopeful lady of my earth: |
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But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart, |
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My will to her consent is but a part; |
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An she agree, within her scope of choice |
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Lies my consent and fair according voice. |
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This night I hold an old accustom'd feast, |
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Whereto I have invited many a guest, |
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Such as I love; and you, among the store, |
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One more, most welcome, makes my number more. |
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At my poor house look to behold this night |
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Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light: |
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Such comfort as do lusty young men feel |
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When well-apparell'd April on the heel |
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Of limping winter treads, even such delight |
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Among fresh female buds shall you this night |
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Inherit at my house; hear all, all see, |
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And like her most whose merit most shall be: |
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Which on more view, of many mine being one |
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May stand in number, though in reckoning none, |
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To Servant, giving a paper |
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Through fair Verona; find those persons out |
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Whose names are written there, and to them say, |
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My house and welcome on their pleasure stay. |
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