CAPULET: When the sun sets, the air drizzles dew. But at the death of my brother's son, it rains a downpour.
What are you, girl? Some kind of fountain? Still crying? Will you cry forever? In one little body you seem like a ship, the sea, and the winds. I'll call your eyes the sea, for they ebb and flow with tears.
Your body is like a ship sailing on the salty flood, and your sighs the wind. Your sighs and your tears are in a rage, and unless you calm yourself, they will overwhelm your body and sink the ship.
Well, wife? Have you told her of our decision?
LADY CAPULET: Yes, sir, but she will have none of it, though she thanks you. I wish the fool were dead and married to her grave!
CAPULET: Slowly, wife. I don't understand. She refuses? Isn't she grateful? Isn't she proud to have such a match? Doesn't she consider herself blessed, unworthy as she is, that we have found such a worthy gentleman to be her husband?
JULIET: I am not proud of the match, but I am thankful for it. I can never be proud of what I hate, but I can be thankful for that which was meant with love.
CAPULET: What is this? What is this foolish logic?