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I have forgot why I did call thee back.
Rom. Let me stand here 'till thou remember it.
Jul. I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
Rom. And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
Rom. I would, I were thy bird.
[Exit. Rom. Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy
breast! 'Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest ! Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell ; 240 His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.
A Monastery. Enter Friar LAWREnce, with a Basket.
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each
part; Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart. Two such opposed foes encamp them still In man as well as herbs, grace, and rude will; And, where the worser is predominant, 270 Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.
Rom. Good morrow,
father! Fri. 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 unstuft brain Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign :
280 Therefore thy earliness doth me assure, Thou art up-rouz’d by some distemp’rature ; Or if not so, then here I hit it rightOur Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.
Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine, Fri. God pardon sin! wast thou with Rosaline?
Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly father ? no; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe. Fri. That's my good son: But where hast thou
been then? Rom. I'll tell thee, ere thou ask it me again. 290
I have been feasting with mine enemy;
Fri. Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.
Rom. Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is
On the fair daughter of rich Capulet:
300, 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 this day,
Fri. 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. 310 Holy saint Francis! 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: Eiij
If e'er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,
thene Women may. fall, when there's no strength in men.
Rom. Thou chidd'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
Fri. Not in a grave,
now, Doth grace
for grace, and love for love allow; The other did not so.
330 Fri. 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 houshold's rancour to pure love.
Rom. O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. Fri. Wisely, and slow; They stumble, that run 'fast.
The Street. Enter BENVOLIO, and MERCUTIO.