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God pardon sin! Wast thou with Rosaline?

Friar Lawrence
God pardon sin! Wast thou with Rosaline?
With Rosaline, my ghostly father? No.
I have forgot that name and that name’s woe.
Friar Lawrence
That’s my good son. But where hast thou been then?

O, she knew well
Thy love did read by rote, that could not spell.

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, blessèd 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.
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 combined, save what thou must combine
By holy marriage. When and where and how
We met, we wooed, 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 washed 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 ringing in mine ancient ears.
Lo, here upon thy cheek the stain doth sit
Of an old tear that is not washed off yet.
If e’er thou wast thyself, and these woes thine,
Thou and these woes were all for Rosaline.
And art thou changed? Pronounce this sentence then:
Women may fall when there’s no strength in men.
Thou chid’st me oft for loving Rosaline.
Friar Lawrence
For doting, not for loving, pupil mine.
And bad’st me bury love.
Friar Lawrence
Not in a grave
To lay one in, another out to have.
I pray thee, chide me not. Her I love now
Doth grace for grace and love for love allow.
The other did not so.
Friar Lawrence
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’ rancor to pure love.
O, let us hence. I stand on sudden haste.
Friar Lawrence
Wisely and slow. They stumble that run fast.
  They exit.

Act 2
Scene 3
Line 47

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