Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice,
To lure this tassel-gentle back again!
It is my soul that calls upon my name:
How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by
night,
Like softest music to attending ears!
Romeo!
At what o'clock to-morrow
Shall I send to thee?
At the hour of nine.
I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then.
