ACT II. | |
Scene III. Friar Lawrence's Cell. | |
| [Enter Friar Lawrence with a basket.] |
Friar. | |
| The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night, |
| Chequering 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 sometimes 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.] |
Romeo. | |
| Good morrow, father! |
Friar. | |
| Benedicite! |
| What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?-- |
| Young son, it argues a distemper'd 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 distemperature; |
| Or if not so, then here I hit it right,-- |
| Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. |
Romeo. | |
| That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine. |
Friar. | |
| God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline? |
Romeo. | |
| 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? |
Romeo. | |
| 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. |
Romeo. | |
| 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! |
| The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, |
| Thy old groans ring yet in mine ancient ears; |
| Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit |
| Of an old tear that is not wash'd off yet: |
| If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine, |
| Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline; |
| And art thou chang'd? Pronounce this sentence then,-- |
| Women may fall, when there's no strength in men. |
Romeo. | |
| Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline. |
Friar. | |
| For doting, not for loving, pupil mine. |
Romeo. | |
| And bad'st me bury love. |
Friar. | |
| Not in a grave |
| To lay one in, another out to have. |
Romeo. | |
| I pray thee chide not: she whom I love now |
| Doth grace for grace and love for love allow; |
| The other did not so. |
Friar. | |
| O, she knew well |
| Thy love did read by rote, that could not spell. |
| But come, young waverer, come go with me, |
| In one respect I'll thy assistant be; |
| For this alliance may so happy prove, |
| To turn your households' rancour to pure love. |
Romeo. | |
| O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. |
Friar. | |
| Wisely, and slow; they stumble that run fast. |
| [Exeunt.] |