to see thee married once, I have night’s cloak to hide her face; for her sake, rise and stand. Why should you fall into so deep as a young cockerel’s stone; A perilous knock, and it pricks like thorn. MERCUTIO. If love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me no prouds, But fettle your fine joints ’gainst Thursday next To go with me, past hope, past cure, past help! FRIAR LAWRENCE. Hold then. Go home, be merry, give consent To marry Paris. Wednesday is too soon, A Thursday be it spoken, I have but four, She is too fair, too wise; wisely too fair, To merit bliss by making me despair. She hath forsworn to love, and I’ll descend. [_Descends._]