Hidden below Juliet’s window, Romeo hears her confess her love and lament his Montague name. Romeo reveals himself, and the lovers exchange solemn declarations of devotion. Juliet promises to send a messenger so Romeo can provide arrangements for their wedding.
SCENE III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.
Enter Friar Lawrence with a basket.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
The grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night,Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light;And fleckled darkness like a drunkard reelsFrom forth day’s pathway, made by Titan’s fiery wheelsNow, ere the sun advance his burning eye,The day to cheer, and night’s dank dew to dry,I must upfill this osier cage of oursWith baleful weeds and precious-juiced 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 kindWe sucking on her natural bosom find.Many for many virtues excellent,None but for some, and yet all different.O, micklea great amount; much. is the powerful grace that liesIn plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities.For naught so vile that on the earth doth liveBut to the earth some special good doth give;Nor aught so good but, strain’d 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.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
Within the infant rind of this weak flowerPoison 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 opposed kings encamp them stillIn 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 LAWRENCE
Benedicitea Latin expression meaning ‘bless ye’, used as a blessing or an exclamation of surprise.!What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?Young son, it argues a distemper’d headSo 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 brainDoth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign.Therefore thy earliness doth me assureThou art uprous’d 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 LAWRENCE
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 LAWRENCE
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 meThat’s by me wounded. Both our remediesWithin thy help and holy physic lies.I bear no hatred, blessed man; for lo,My intercession likewise steads my foe.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
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 setOn the fair daughter of rich Capulet.As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;And all combin’d, save what thou must combineBy holy marriage. When, and where, and howWe 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 today.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
Holy Saint Francis! What a change is here!Is Rosaline, that thou didst love so dear,So soon forsaken? Young men’s love then liesNot truly in their hearts, but in their eyes.Jesu Maria, what a deal of brineHath wash’d 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 sitOf an old tear that is not wash’d off yet.If ere thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,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.
ROMEO
Thou chidd’st me oft for loving Rosaline.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
ROMEO
And bad’st me bury love.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
Not in a graveTo lay one in, another out to have.
ROMEO
I pray thee chide me not, her I love nowDoth grace for grace and love for love allow.The other did not so.
FRIAR LAWRENCE
O, she knew wellThy 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.