MONTAGUE 
Both by myself and many other friends:
But he, his own affections' counsellor,
Is to himself--I will not say how true--
But to himself so secret and so close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
Could we but learn from whence his sorrows grow.
We would as willingly give cure as know.

MONTAGUE 
I would thou wert so happy by thy stay,
To hear true shrift. Come, madam, let's away.

ROMEO 
Is the day so young?

ROMEO 
Ay me! sad hours seem long.
Was that my father that went hence so fast?