Romeo and Juliet / Ромео и Джульетта

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.

Enter Romeo.

Romeo

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.

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,

Thy old groans yet ring in mine ancient ears.

Lo here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit

Of an old tear that is not wash’d off yet.