Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 3

The grey-ey’d morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light; And fleckled darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day’s pathway, made by Titan’s fiery wheels 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.

The grey-eyed morning smiles on the frowning night, marking the eastern clouds with streaks of light like a checkerboard; and the spotted darkness staggers like a drunk out of the path of the day, made by Titan's fiery wheels. Now, before the sun lifts up his burning eye to cheer the day and dry night's damp dew, I must fill up this willow basket of ours with harmful weeds and flowers full of precious juice. The earth, which is nature's mother, is also her tomb; what is her burial grave is her womb. And out of her womb we find children of many different kinds, sucking at her natural breast. Many are excellent for many powers, none without at least one, and yet all of them different. Oh, great is the powerful goodness that lies in plants, herbs, stones, and their true properties. For there is nothing so foul living on the earth that does not give the earth some special benefit; nor anything so good that, twisted away from its proper use, does not rebel against its true nature and fall into wrongdoing. Goodness itself turns into vice when it is misapplied, and vice is sometimes given dignity by the way it acts.

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.

Inside the young skin of this frail flower there lives poison, and there lives healing power too: for if you smell it, it gladdens every part of the body with its scent; if you taste it, it kills all the senses along with the heart. Two such opposing kings are always camped in man as well as in herbs — goodness and brutal desire; and where the worse one rules, the cankerworm death soon eats that plant up.

Good morrow, father.

Good morning, father.

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.

Bless you! What early voice greets me so sweetly? Young son, it shows a troubled mind to say good morning to your bed so early. Worry keeps watch in every old man's eye, and where worry lodges, sleep will never lie down; but where unhurt youth with an untroubled brain lays down its limbs, there golden sleep is king. So your being up so early assures me you have been roused by some disorder; or, if that isn't it, then I've got it right this time: our Romeo hasn't been in bed tonight.

That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine.

That last part is true; the rest I had was sweeter.

God pardon sin. Wast thou with Rosaline?

God forgive the sin! Were you with Rosaline?

With Rosaline, my ghostly father? No. I have forgot that name, and that name’s woe.

With Rosaline, my spiritual father? No. I have forgotten that name, and the misery that went with it.

That’s my good son. But where hast thou been then?

That's my good son. But where have you been then?

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.

I'll tell you before you have to ask me again. I have been feasting with my enemy, where all at once someone wounded me, and was wounded by me. The cure for us both lies in your help and your holy medicine. I bear no hatred, blessed man; look, my plea helps my enemy just as much as me.

Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.

Speak plainly, good son, and keep your meaning simple; a confession full of riddles gets only a riddling absolution.

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.

Then know plainly that my heart's dear love is set on the beautiful daughter of rich Capulet. As mine is set on hers, so hers is set on mine; and we are joined in every way except the joining you must do by holy marriage. When and where and how we met, courted and exchanged vows, I'll tell you as we go along; but this I beg, that you agree to marry us today.

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. If ere thou wast thyself, and these woes thine, Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline, And art thou chang’d? Pronounce this sentence then, Women may fall, when there’s no strength in men.

Holy Saint Francis! What a change this is! Is Rosaline, whom you loved so dearly, abandoned so soon? Young men's love, then, does not really lie in their hearts, but in their eyes. Jesu Maria, what a quantity of salt tears has washed your pale cheeks for Rosaline! How much salt water thrown away and wasted to flavour a love that never tasted of it. The sun has not yet cleared your sighs from the sky, your old groans are still ringing in my old ears. Look, here on your cheek sits the mark of an old tear that hasn't been washed off yet. If you were ever yourself, and these sorrows were yours, then you and these sorrows were all for Rosaline; and are you changed? Then say this judgement out loud: women may be allowed to fall, when men have no firmness in them.

Thou chidd’st me oft for loving Rosaline.

You scolded me often for loving Rosaline.

For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.

For being infatuated, not for loving, my pupil.

And bad’st me bury love.

And you told me to bury that love.

Not in a grave To lay one in, another out to have.

Not in a grave where you lay one love down in order to take another one out.

I pray thee chide me not, her I love now Doth grace for grace and love for love allow. The other did not so.

Please don't scold me. The woman I love now gives me favour for favour and love for love. The other one did not.

O, she knew well Thy love did read by rote, that 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 households’ rancour to pure love.

Oh, she knew perfectly well that your love was reciting by heart without being able to read the letters. But come, young unsteady one, come along with me. In one respect I'll be your helper: this alliance may turn out so fortunate that it will change your families' bitterness into pure love.

O let us hence; I stand on sudden haste.

Oh, let's go from here; I'm in urgent need of speed.

Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast.

Wisely and slowly; those who run fast are the ones who stumble.