Ben. Away, be gone, the sport is at the best

Rom. I so I feare, the more is my vnrest

Cap. Nay Gentlemen prepare not to be gone,
We haue a trifling foolish Banquet towards:
Is it e'ne so? why then I thanke you all.
I thanke you honest Gentlemen, good night:
More Torches here: come on, then let's to bed.
Ah sirrah, by my faie it waxes late,
Ile to my rest

Iuli. Come hither Nurse,
What is yond Gentleman:
Nur. The Sonne and Heire of old Tyberio

Iuli. What's he that now is going out of doore?
Nur. Marrie that I thinke be young Petruchio

Iul. What's he that follows here that would not dance?
Nur. I know not

Iul. Go aske his name: if he be married,
My graue is like to be my wedded bed

Nur. His name is Romeo, and a Mountague,
The onely Sonne of your great Enemie

Iul. My onely Loue sprung from my onely hate,
Too early seene, vnknowne, and knowne too late,