Good morrow, father.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
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 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 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.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 set
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet.
As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;
And all combin’d, 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 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 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,

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