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ROMEO AND JULIET. 49 

Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, 

His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell. [Exit. 



Scene III. Friar Laurence's Cell. 

Enter Eriar Laurence, ivlth a basket. 

Friar Laurence. The gray-eyed morn smiles on the 
frowning night, 
Checkering the eastern clouds with streaks of light, 
And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels 
From forth day's path and 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 up-fill 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. 
0, 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.