Romeo and Juliet Act 2 Scene 3
Friar Laurence's cell. Dawn.
The Original
Plain Modern English
Enter Friar Laurence with a basket.
Friar Laurence
The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,
Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light,
And 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 ours
With 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 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 herbs, plants, 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 strain'd from that fair use
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
And vice sometimes by action dignified.
Within the infant rind of this small 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 opposed 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.
Friar Laurence
The grey-eyed morning is smiling at the scowling night,
streaking the eastern clouds with light,
and the patchy darkness staggers like a drunk
out of the path of day and the sun-god's burning wheels.
Now, before the sun lifts its burning eye
to warm the day and dry the damp night dew,
I need to fill this wicker basket
with poisonous weeds and flowers full of precious juice.
The earth, nature's mother, is also her grave;
what buries her is also what gives her birth.
From that womb we find children of every kind
feeding at her natural breast —
many excellent for many uses,
none useless, and every one different.
Oh, there's enormous power
in herbs, plants, and stones, in their true natures.
There's nothing alive on earth so vile
that it doesn't give the earth some special good,
and nothing so good that, twisted from its proper use,
it doesn't betray its own nature and turn harmful.
Virtue becomes vice when it's misapplied,
and vice is sometimes redeemed by action.
Inside the young skin of this little flower
live both poison and medicine.
Smell it, and it invigorates the whole body;
taste it, and it kills the heart and every sense.
Two such opposing kings are always camped
in men as much as in plants: goodness and raw appetite.
And where the worse one wins,
death soon eats that plant up. (Remember this speech. It's the recipe for everything that goes wrong.)
Enter Romeo.
Romeo
Good morrow, father.
Romeo
Good morning, Father.
Friar Laurence
Benedicite!
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 doth reign:
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.
Friar Laurence
Bless you!
What sweet voice is greeting me this early?
Young man, it suggests a troubled mind
to say goodbye to your bed this early.
Worry keeps watch in every old man's eye,
and where worry lives, sleep never does.
But where untroubled youth lies down
with an uncluttered mind, golden sleep rules.
So your early rising convinces me
you've been woken by some disturbance —
or if not, then here's my guess:
our Romeo hasn't been to bed at all tonight.
Romeo
That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.
Romeo
That last one's true — and my rest was sweeter for it.
Friar Laurence
God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline?
Friar Laurence
God forgive the sin! Were you with Rosaline?
Romeo
With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no;
I have forgot that name, and that name's woe.
Romeo
With Rosaline, Father? No.
I've forgotten that name and all the misery attached to it.
Friar Laurence
That's my good son: but where hast thou been, then?
Friar Laurence
Good lad. But where have you 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, blessed man, for, lo,
My intercession likewise steads my foe.
Romeo
I'll tell you before you ask again.
I've been at a party with my enemy,
where somebody suddenly wounded me —
and I wounded her back. The cure for both of us
depends on your help and holy medicine.
I feel no hatred, blessed man — look,
the favour I'm asking helps my enemy too.
Friar Laurence
Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.
Friar Laurence
Speak plainly, son, in ordinary words.
A riddling confession gets a riddling absolution.
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 woo'd and made exchange of vow,
I'll tell thee as we pass; but this I pray,
That thou consent to marry us to-day.
Romeo
Then plainly: my heart's love is set
on the beautiful daughter of rich Capulet.
My heart's on hers and hers is on mine.
We're joined in every way except the one you must join —
holy marriage. When, where, and how
we met, courted, and exchanged vows,
I'll tell you as we walk. But I beg you:
agree to marry us today.
Friar Laurence
Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here!
Is Rosaline, whom 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 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 ring yet in my ancient ears;
Lo, here upon thy cheek 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 sentence then,
Women may fall, when there's no strength in men.
Friar Laurence
Holy Saint Francis — what a turnaround!
Rosaline, whom you loved so dearly,
abandoned this fast? So young men's love
isn't really in their hearts at all — it's in their eyes.
Good heavens, what a quantity of salt water
has washed your pale cheeks over Rosaline!
All that salt water wasted,
seasoning a love that never even tasted of it!
The sun hasn't yet cleared your sighs from the sky,
your old groans are still ringing in my old ears.
Look — there's still a stain on your cheek
from an old tear that hasn't washed off.
If you were ever yourself and those sorrows were real,
then you and those sorrows were all about Rosaline.
And now you've changed? Then say this out loud:
women can hardly be blamed for falling, when men have no strength.
Romeo
Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
Romeo
You often scolded me for loving Rosaline.
Friar Laurence
For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
Friar Laurence
For obsessing, not for loving, my pupil.
Romeo
And bad'st me bury love.
Romeo
And told me to bury that love.
Friar Laurence
Not in a grave,
To lay one in, another out to have.
Friar Laurence
Not in a grave,
burying one just to dig up another.
Romeo
I pray thee, chide not; she whom I love now
Doth grace for grace and love for love allow;
The other did not so.
Romeo
Please don't scold me. The girl I love now
gives me kindness for kindness and love for love.
The other one didn't.
Friar Laurence
O, she knew well
Thy love did read by rote and 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.
Friar Laurence
Oh, she knew perfectly well
that you were reciting love by heart without understanding a word of it.
But come on, young flip-flopper, come with me.
I'll help you, for one reason:
this marriage might turn out so well
that it turns your families' hatred into pure love.
Romeo
O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.
Romeo
Let's go — I'm in a terrible hurry.
Friar Laurence
Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.
Friar Laurence
Wisely and slowly. People who run fast trip over. (Nobody in this play listens to this advice.)
Exeunt.