Fri. L.
The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,
Chequering ^note the eastern clouds with streaks of light;
And flecked darkness ^note like a drunkard reels
From forth day's path and Titan's fiery ^note wheels: ^note

Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye,
The day to cheer and night's dank dew to dry,
I must up-fill ^note this osier cage of ours
With baleful ^note weeds and precious-juiced ^note flowers.
The earth that's nature's mother is ^note her tomb;
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 ^note excellent,
None but for some, and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies
In herbs, plants ^note, stones, and their true qualities:
For nought so vile that on the earth doth live,
But to ^note the earth some special good doth give;
Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use,
Revolts from true birth, stumbling ^note on abuse:
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied,
And vice sometime's by action ^note dignified.
Within the infant rind of this small ^note flower
Poison hath residence, and medicine ^note power:
For this, being smelt, with that part ^note cheers each part,
Being tasted, slays ^note all senses ^note with the heart.
Two such opposed ^note kings ^note 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. ^note

Rom.
Good morrow, father.

Fri. L.
Benedicite ^note!
What early tongue so sweet ^note saluteth me ^note?
Young son, it argues a distemper'd ^note head
So soon to bid good morrow to thy bed:
Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodges ^note, sleep will never lie;
But where unbruised ^note youth with unstuff'd brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign:
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure
Thou art up-roused by some ^note distemperature;
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. L.
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. L.
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 ^note our remedies
Within thy help and holy physic lies:

I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo,
My intercession likewise steads my foe.

Fri. L.
Be plain, good son, and ^note homely in thy drift;
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.

Rom.
Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set
On the fair daughter ^note of rich Capulet:
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;
And all combined, 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 ^note as we pass; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us to-day.

Fri. L.
Holy Saint ^note Francis, what a change is here!
Is Rosaline, that ^note 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 ^note, what a deal of brine
Hath wash'd thy sallow ^note cheeks for Rosaline!
How much salt water thrown ^note 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 ^note in mine ^note ancient ears;
Lo, here upon thy cheek ^note 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 changed? pronounce this ^note sentence ^note then:
Women may fall when there's no strength in men.

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

Fri. L.
For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.

Rom.
And bad'st me bury love.

Fri. L.
Not in a grave,

To lay one in, another ^note out to have.

Rom.
I pray thee ^note, chide not: she whom I ^note love now
Doth grace for grace and love for love allow;
The other did not so.

Fri. L.
O, she knew well
Thy love did read by rote and could ^note not spell.
But come, young waverer, come, go ^note with me,
In one respect I'll thy assistant be;
For this alliance may so happy prove,
To turn your households' rancour ^note to pure love.

Rom.
O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.

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

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