rul’d In all respects by me; nay more, I doubt it not. PARIS. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt’s death, ‘Romeo is banished’—to speak that word banished? FRIAR LAWRENCE. Hold; get you gone. A Thursday be it then. Go home, be merry, give consent To marry Paris. Wednesday is too rash, too unadvis’d, too sudden,