Juliet.
What must be shall be.

Friar.
That's a certain text.

Paris.
Come you to make confession to this father?

Juliet.
To answer that, I should confess to you.

Paris.
Do not deny to him that you love me.

Juliet.
I will confess to you that I love him.

Paris.
So will ye, I am sure, that you love me.

Juliet.
If I do so, it will be of more price,
Being spoke behind your back than to your face.

Paris.
Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears.

Juliet.
The tears have got small victory by that;