Forgetting any other home but this.


JULIET.

’Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone,

And yet no farther than a wanton’s bird,

That lets it hop a little from her hand,

Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,

And with a silk thread plucks it back again,

So loving-jealous of his liberty.


ROMEO.

I would I were thy bird.


JULIET.

Sweet, so would I:

Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.

Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow

That I shall say good night till it be morrow.


 [Exit.]
ROMEO.

Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast.

Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest.

The grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night,

Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light;

And darkness fleckled like a drunkard reels

From forth day’s pathway, made by Titan’s wheels

Hence will I to my ghostly Sire’s cell,

His help to crave and my dear hap to tell.


 [Exit.]
SCENE III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.
 Enter Friar Lawrence

with a basket.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.

Now, 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 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 plants, herbs, stones, and their true qualities.

For naught 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 sometime’s by action dignified.

 Enter Romeo.


Within the infant rind of this weak flower

Poison hath residence, and medicine power: