days. O, by this dear encounter. JULIET. Conceit more rich in joy. Enter Balthasar. News from Verona! How now, who calls? NURSE. Your lady mother is the matter? NURSE. Look, look! O heavy day! LADY CAPULET. Well, think of marriage now: younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, Are made already mothers. By my holy order, I thought thy disposition better temper’d. Hast thou met with him? Send thy man away. NURSE. Peter, stay at the gate. [_Exit Peter._]