Act 2 - Scene 3
Friar Laurence's cell.
Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket
The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,
Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light,
flecked 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
With baleful weeds and precious-juiced flowers.
The earth that's nature's mother is her tomb;
her burying grave that is her womb,
And from her womb children of divers kind
We sucking on her natural
Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful
grace that lies
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:
For nought so vile that on the earth doth
But to the earth some special good doth give,
Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use
from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
And vice sometimes by
Within the infant rind of this small flower
Poison hath residence and medicine power:
this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;
Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
opposed kings encamp them still
In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will;
And where the worser is
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.
Good morrow, father.
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 unstuff'd brain
Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure
Thou art up-roused by some distemperature;
Or if not
so, then here I hit it right,
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.
That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.
God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline?
With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no;
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.
That's my good son: but where hast thou been, then?
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:
no hatred, blessed man, for, lo,
My intercession likewise steads my foe.
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