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I have forgot why I did call thee back.
Rom. Let me stand here 'till thou remember it.
Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Remem'bring how I love thy company.
Rom. And I’ll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Forgetting any other home but this.
jul. 'Tis almost morning, I would have thee
And yet no further than a wanton's bird;
Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves, 23o
And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
So loving-jealous of his liberty.
Rom. I would, I were thy bird.
jul. Sweet, so would I;
Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
Good night, good night I parting is such sweet sor-
That I shall say—good night, 'till it be morrow.
Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy
'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell; 240
His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.
A Monastery. Enter Friar LAwRENce, with a Basket.
Fri. The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning
Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light;
And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels
From forth day's path-way, made by Titan's wheels:
Now 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; 250
What is her burying grave, 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 nought so vile that on the earth doth live,
But to the earth some special good doth give ;
Nor ought so good, but, strain’d from that fair
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
And vice sometime's by action dignify’d.
Within the infant rind of this small flower
Poison hath residence, and med'cine power: .
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Two such opposed foes encamp them still
In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will;
And, where the worser is predominant, 27,o
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant. -
Rom. Good morrow, father
Fri. Benedicitel 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 unstuft brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth
reign : - 28o
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure, -
Thou art up-rouz'd by 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.
- Fri. God pardon sin wast thou with Rosaline *
Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father no; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.
Fri. That's my good son : But where hast thou
been then P Fom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. 290 - - I have
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 physick lies :
I bear no hatred, blessed man; for, lo,
My intercession likewise steads my foe.
Fri. 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
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: 3oo ,
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 this day.
Fri. Holy saint Francis what a change is here t
Is Rosaline, whom thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken young men's love then lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes. 31o
Holy saint Francis 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 tastel
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears;
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear, that is not wash’d off yet:
E i ij If
If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline; 322
And art thou chang'd pronounce this sentence
Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.
Rom. Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
Fri. For doating, not for loving, pupil mine.
Rom. And bad'st me bury love.
Fri. Not in a grave,
To lay one in, another out to have.
Rom. I pray thee, chide not : she whom I love
Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow ;
The other did not so. 330
Fri. O, she knew well, .
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 houshold's rancour to pure love.
Pom. O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
Fri. Wisely, and slow; They stumble, that run
The Street. Enter BeNvolio, and Mercutio.
Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be 2–
Came he not home to-night? 346
Ben. Not to his father's; I spoke with his man.