Marry, that “marry” is the very theme I came to talk of. Tell me, daughter Juliet, How stands your disposition to be married?

An honour! were not I thine only nurse, I would say thou hadst suck’d wisdom from thy teat.

Well, think of marriage now; younger than you, Here in Verona, ladies of esteem, Are made already mothers: by my count, I was your mother much upon these years That you are now a maid. Thus then in brief: The valiant Paris seeks you for his love.

A man, young lady! lady, such a man As all the world⁠—why, he’s a man of wax.