Hold, daughter: I do spy a kind of hope,Which craves as
desperate an execution.As that is desperate which we would prevent.If,
rather than to marry County Paris,Thou hast the strength of will to slay
thyself,Then is it likely thou wilt undertakeA thing like death to chide
away this shame,That copest with death himself to scape from it:And, if
thou darest, I’ll give thee remedy.