Friar Laurence's Cell.
 Enter FRIAR LAURENCE with a basket.

Friar
Laurence	The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,
	Chequ'ring the eastern clouds with streaks of light,
	And fleckled darkness like a drunkard reels
	From forth day's path and Titan's fiery 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-juicd flowers.
	The earth that's nature's mother is 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 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 aught so good but, strained from that fair use,
	Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse.
	Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied,
	And vice sometime's by action dignified.

                               Enter ROMEO.

	Within the infant rind of this weak flower
	Poison hath residence, and medicine power;
	For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;
	Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
	Two such opposd 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.

Romeo	Good morrow, father.

Friar
Laurence								Benedicite!
	What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?
	Young son, it argues a distempered 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 unbruisd youth with unstuffed brain
	Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.
	Therefore thy earliness doth me assure
	Thou art uproused with some distemperature;
	Or if not so, then here I hit it right:
	Our Romeo hath not been in bed tonight.

Romeo	That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.

Friar
Laurence	God pardon sin! Wast thou with Rosaline?

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

Friar
Laurence	That's my good son; but where hast thou been then?

Romeo	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 physic lies.
	I bear no hatred, blessd man, for, lo,
	My intercession likewise steads my foe.

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

Romeo	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 combined save what thou must combine
	By holy marriage. When and where and how
	We met, we wooed, and made exchange of vow,
	I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
	That thou consent to marry us today.

Friar
Laurence	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
	Hath washed 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 yet ring in mine ancient ears.
	Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
	Of an old tear that is not washed off yet.
	If ere thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,
	Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline.
	And art thou changed? Pronounce this sentence then:
	Women may fall when there's no strength in men.

Romeo	Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline.

Friar
Laurence	For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.

Romeo	And bad'st me bury love.

Friar
Laurence							Not in a grave
	To lay one in, another out to have.

Romeo	I pray thee, chide me not; her I love now
	Doth grace for grace and love for love allow;
	The other did not so.

Friar
Laurence								O, she knew well
	Thy love did read by rote that 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.

Romeo	 O let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.

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