From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels : 3
Now, ere the sun advance his burning eye,
The day to cheer, and night's dank dew to dry,
I must fill up 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 herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities :
For nought 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 Four Prentices : “ We'll fleck our white steeds in your Chris. tian blood."

3 So the first quarto; the later copies have burning instead of fiery. Fiery is preferred here, as burning occurs in the next line.

H. 4 So Drayton, in the eighteenth Song of his Poly-Olbion, speaking of a hermit :

“ His happy time he spends the works of God to see,

Within the infant rind of this weak flower
Poison hath residence, and medicine power:
For this, being smelt, with that part 6 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.

Enter ROMEO. 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 unstuff'd brain, Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign. Therefore thy earliness doth me assure, Thou art uprous'd by some distemperature: Or, if not so, then here I hit it right, — Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.

Rom. That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine. Fri. God pardon sin ! wert 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. 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.

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 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 this day.

Fri. Holy St. 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. 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 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. If e'er 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.

Rom. Thou chid'st me oft for loving Rosaline.
Fri. For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.

Rom. And bad'st me bury love.
Fri.

Not in a grave,
To lay one in, another out to have.
Rom. I pray thee, chide not: she whom I love

now
Doth grace for grace, and love for love allow :
The other did not so.
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 households' rancour to pure love.

Rom. O! let us hence; I stand on sudden haste. Fri. Wisely, and slow: they stumble, that run fast.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. A Street.

Enter BENVOLIO and MERCUTIO. Mer. Where the devil should this Romeo be?Came he not home to-night?

Ben. Not to his father's : I spoke with his man. Mer. Why, that same pale hard-hearted wench,

that Rosaline, Torments him so, that he will sure run mad.

Ben. Tybalt, the kinsman of old Capulet,
Hath sent a letter to his father's house.

Mer. A challenge, on my life.
Ben. Romeo will answer it.

Mer. Any man, that can write, may answer a letter.

Ben. Nay, he will answer the letter's master, how he dares, being dared.

Mer. Alas, poor Romeo! he is already dead; stabb’d with a white wench's black eye; shot thorough the ear with a love-song; the very pin of his heart cleft with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft : And is he a man to encounter Tybalt ?

Ben. Why, what is Tybalt ?

Mer. More than prince of cats," I can tell you. 0! he is the courageous captain of compliments. He fights as you sing prick-song, keeps time, distance, and proportion; rests me his minim rest, one, two, and the third in your bosom : the very butcher of a silk button ; a duellist, a duellist ; a gentleman of the very first house, — of the first and second cause. Ah, the immortal passado! the punto reverso ! the hay !*

Ben. The what ?

Mer. The pox of such antic, lisping, affecting fantasticoes, these new tuners of accents ! - By Jesu, a very good bļade! - a very tall man ! fa very good whore !” + Why, is not this a lamentable •

1 Tbe allusion is to archery. The clout, or white mark at which the arrows were directed, was fastened by a black pin, placed in the centre of it. To hit this was the highest ambition of every marksman.