The Tragedy Of Romeo And Juliet

Scene III. Friar Laurence's cell.

Enter Friar, [Laurence] alone, with a basket.

  Friar. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night,
    Check'ring the Eastern clouds with streaks of light;
    And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels
    From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels.
    Non, ere the sun advance his burning eye
    The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry,
    I must up-fill this osier cage of ours
    With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.
    The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb.
    What is her burying gave, that is her womb;
    And from her womb children of divers kind
    We sucking on her natural bosom find;
    Many for many virtues excellent,
    None but for some, and yet all different.
    O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies
    In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities;
    For naught so vile that on the earth doth live
    But to the earth some special good doth give;
    Nor aught so good but, strain'd from that fair use,
    Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.
    Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied,
    And vice sometime's by action dignified.
    Within the infant rind of this small flower
    Poison hath residence, and medicine power;
    For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;
    Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
    Two such opposed kings encamp them still
    In man as well as herbs- grace and rude will;
    And where the worser is predominant,
    Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

Enter Romeo.

Rom. Good morrow, father.

  Friar. Benedicite!
    What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
    Young son, it argues a distempered head
    So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed.
    Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
    And where care lodges sleep will never lie;
    But where unbruised youth with unstuff'd brain
    Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.
    Therefore thy earliness doth me assure
    Thou art uprous'd with some distemp'rature;
    Or if not so, then here I hit it right-
    Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.

Rom. That last is true-the sweeter rest was mine.

Friar. God pardon sin! Wast thou with Rosaline?

  Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father? No.
    I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.

Friar. That's my good son! But where hast thou been then?

  Rom. I'll tell thee ere thou ask it me again.
    I have been feasting with mine enemy,
    Where on a sudden one hath wounded me
    That's by me wounded. Both our remedies
    Within thy help and holy physic lies.
    I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo,
    My intercession likewise steads my foe.

  Friar. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift
    Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.

  Rom. Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set
    On the fair daughter of rich Capulet;
    As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine,
    And all combin'd, save what thou must combine
    By holy marriage. When, and where, and how
    We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vow,
    I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
    That thou consent to marry us to-day.

  Friar. Holy Saint Francis! What a change is here!
    Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear,
    So soon forsaken? Young men's love then lies
    Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
    Jesu Maria! What a deal of brine
    Hath wash'd thy sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
    How much salt water thrown away in waste,
    To season love, that of it doth not taste!
    T…