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.
Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye(5)
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 grave, that is her womb;(10)
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(15)
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.(20)
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;(25)
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.(30)

FRIAR:

The grey-eyed morning smiles on the frowning night,
Cutting the eastern clouds into squares with streaks of light;
And the flecked darkness reels like a drunkard
From the day's path and the sun’s hot rays.
No, before the sun advances his burning eye,
To cheer the day and to dry night's dank dew,
I must fill up this, our cage made of reeds
With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.
The earth, that is, nature's mother, is nature’s tomb.
The grave where she’s buried, that is also her womb,
And, from her womb, we find children of diverse kinds
When we are sucking on her natural bosom;
Many plants are excellent for many virtues,
Some have none, others have some, but are all different.
O, the powerful grace that lies
In plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities, are great.
For nothing so vile lives on the earth
Except to give to the earth some special good;
Nor anything so good but, strained from its beautiful use,
Goes against its true use, stumbling on abuse.
Virtue itself can turn to vice, if it is misapplied;
And vice is sometimes dignified by action.
Within the infant rind of this small flower
Poison lives, and medicine power.
For this flower, being smelled, cheers each part with fragrance;
Being tasted, it slays the heart and all senses.
Two such opposed kings set up camp
In man, as well as in herbs, grace and rude will;
And where the worse human trait is predominant,
The canker death eats up that plant very soon.

Enter Romeo.

ROM:

Good morrow, father.

ROM:

Good morning, 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.(35)
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(40)
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.

FRIAR:

Bless you!
What early tongue so sweetly salutes me?
Young son, it is arguably a distempered head that
Bids good morning so soon to your bed.
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And, where care lodges, sleep will never lie;
But where a perfect youth with an empty brain
Rests his limbs, golden sleep reigns there.
Therefore your earliness assures me that
You are aroused by some disturbance in your mind;
Or if that’s not it, then I guess right,
Our Romeo has not been in bed tonight.

ROM:

That last is true—the sweeter rest was mine.

ROM:

That last part is true; my rest was the sweeter.

FRIAR:

God pardon sin! Wast thou with Rosaline?(45)

FRIAR:

God pardon sin! Were you with Rosaline?

ROM:

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

ROM:

With Rosaline, my ghostly father? No!
I have forgotten that name, and that name's pain.

FRIAR:

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

FRIAR:

That's my good son, but where have you been then?

ROM:

I'll tell thee ere thou ask it me again.
I have been feasting with mine enemy,(50)
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.(55)

ROM:

I'll tell you before you ask me again.
I have been feasting with my enemy;
Where, all of a sudden, one has wounded me
That's by me also wounded. Both our remedies
Lie within your help and holy physic;
I bear no hatred, blessed man; for, behold,
My intercession is likewise useful to my foe.

FRIAR:

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

FRIAR:

Be plain, good son, and homely in your meaning;
Telling the truth in riddles finds forgiveness is in riddles.

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,(60)
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.(65)

ROM:

Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet.
As my heart is set on hers, so hers is set on mine;
And all combined, except what you must combine
By holy marriage, when, and where, and how
We met, wooed, and made exchange of vow,
I'll tell you as we walk; but this I beg,
That you consent to marry us today.

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(70)
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.(75)
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:(80)
Women may fall when there's no strength in men.

FRIAR:

Holy Saint Francis! What a change this is!
Is Rosaline, who you did love so dearly,
So soon forsaken? Young men's love, then, lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.
Jesus and Mary, what a deal of salt water
Has washed your sallow cheeks for Rosaline!
How much salt water was thrown away in waste,
To season love, that did not taste love!
The sun hasn’t cleared your sighs from heaven,
Your old groans still ring in my ancient ears;
Look, here, upon your cheek, the stain of an old tear
Still sits that is not washed off yet.
If ever you were yourself, and these woes yours,
You and these woes were all for Rosaline.
And are you changed? Pronounce this sentence then
Women may fall when there's no strength in men.

ROM:

Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline.

ROM:

You often scolded me for loving Rosaline.

FRIAR:

For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.

FRIAR:

For doting, not for loving, my pupil.

ROM:

And bad'st me bury love.

ROM:

And you told me bury love.

FRIAR:

Not in a grave(85)
To lay one in, another out to have.

FRIAR:

Not in a grave
To lay one in, and take another out.

ROM:

I pray thee chide not. She whom I love now
Doth grace for grace and love for love allow.
The other did not so.

ROM:

Please don’t scold me. She whom I love now
Has grace for grace and love for love allowed.
The other one didn’t.

FRIAR:

O, she knew well(90)
Thy love did read by rote, and 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.(95)

FRIAR:

O, she knew better!
Your love was read by a heart that couldn’t spell.
But come, young waverer, come go with me.
In one respect, I'll be your assistant.
For this alliance may prove to be so happy,
That it may turn your households' rage to pure love.

ROM:

O, let us hence! I stand on sudden haste.

ROM:

O, let’s go then; I’m in a hurry.

FRIAR:

Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast.

FRIAR:

Wisely, and slowly. They stumble that run fast.

Exeunt.