Fri.
The grey-ey'd morn smiles on the frowning night,
Check'ring the eastern clouds with streaks of light,
Now ere the sun advance his burning eye,
The day to chear, and night's dank dew to dry,

I must fill up this ofier cage of ours,
With baleful weeds, and precious juiced flowers.
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 use,
Revolts to vice, and stumbles on abuse.
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied,
And vice, sometimes by action's dignified.
Within the infant rind of this small flower,
Poison hath residence, and med'cine power:
For this being smelt, with that sense chears each part;
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,
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

Rom. [Within.]
Good-morrow, father.

Fri.
Benedicite.
What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Enter Romeo.
Young son, it argues a distemper'd head,
So soon to bid good-morrow to thy pillow.
Care keeps his watch on every old man's eye,
And where care lodgeth, sleep will never bide;
But where, with unstuft brain, unbruised youth
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep resides.
Therefore, thy earliness assureth me
Thou art up-rouz'd by some distemp'rature.
What is the matter, son?

Rom.
I tell thee ere thou ask it me again,
I have been feasting with mine enemy;
Where, to the heart's core one hath wounded me,
That's by me wounded; both our remedies
Within thy help and holy physic lie.

Fri.
Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift.

Rom.
Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set
On Juliet, Capulet's fair daughter;

As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine:
But when, and where, and how
We met, we woo'd, and made exchange of vows,
I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I beg,
That thou consent to marry us, to-day.

Fri.
Holy saint Francis, what a change is this!
But tell me, son, and call thy reason home,
Is not this love the offspring of thy folly,
Bred from thy wantonness and thoughtless brain?
Be heedful, youth, and see you stop betimes,
Lest that thy rash ungovernable passions,
O'er-leaping duty, and each due regard,
Hurry thee on, thro' short liv'd, dear-bought pleasures,
To cureless woes, and lasting penitence.

Rom.
I pray thee, chide me not; she whom I love,
Doth give me grace for grace, and love for love:
Do thou with Heav'n smile upon our union.
Do not withold thy benediction from us,
But make two hearts, by holy marriage, one.

Fri.
Well, come, my pupil, go along with me,
In one respect I'll give thee my assistance;
For this alliance may so happy prove,
To turn your household rancour to pure love.

Rom.
O let us hence, love stands on sudden haste.

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

Previous section

Next section