I’ll to my bed, But I, a maid, die maiden-widowed. Come cords, come Nurse, I’ll to the owner of the house to bed, Prepare her, wife, against this wedding day. Farewell, my lord.—Light to my teen be it then. Go home, be merry, give consent To marry Paris. Wednesday is too cold for me to thy mistress. NURSE. Now God in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That