Fri.
The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night^{3 note}

Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light;
And flecked darkness^{4 note}

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^{6 note}

The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb^{8 note}

Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
Two such opposed foes encamp them still
In man^{5 note}

Rom.
Good morrow, father* ^note!

Fri.
Benedicite!
What early tongue so soon† ^note 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^{7 note}

:

Therefore thy earliness doth me assure,
Thou art up-rous'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?

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 physick lies^{8 note}

Fri.
Be plain, good son, and homely* ^note 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 this day.

Fri.
Holy Saint Francis! what a change is here!
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.
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* ^note doth not taste!
The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears,
Thy old groans ring yet in my ancient ears† ^note;
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‡ ^note,
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.

Rom.
Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline.

Fri.
For doting, 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 now§ ^note,
Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow;
The other did not so.

Fri.
O, she knew well,
Thy love did read by rote, and could not spell^{9 note}

For this alliance may so happy prove,
To turn your households' rancour to pure love^{1 note}.

Rom.
O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste^{2 note}

.

Fri.
Wisely, and slow; They stumble, that run fast. [Exeunt.

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