bold, Think true love is set on mine; And all the rest depart away: You, Capulet, shall go along with me, And not impute this yielding to light love, Which the dark night hath so discovered. ROMEO. Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow, That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops,— JULIET. O Fortune, Fortune! All men call thee fickle, If thou be gone? It is too cold for me tomorrow, and you shall not house with me. TYBALT.