Nay, gentlemen, prepare not to be gone; We have a trifling foolish banquet towards. Is it e’en so? why, then, I thank you all; I thank you, honest gentlemen; good night. More torches here! Come on then, let’s to bed. Ah, sirrah, by my fay, it waxes late: I’ll to my rest. Exeunt all but Juliet and Nurse .

Go ask his name: if he be married, My grave is like to be my wedding bed.

His name is Romeo, and a Montague; The only son of your great enemy.

My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late! Prodigious birth of love it is to me, That I must love a loathed enemy.