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. 20
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied,
And vice sometime's by action dignified.
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 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. 30_Enter_ ROMEO_Romeo._ Good morrow, 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-rous'd with some distemperature; 40
Or if not so, then here I hit it right,
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night. _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 50
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 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 combin'd, save what thou must combine 60
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. _Friar Laurence._ Holy Saint Francis, what a change is here!

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