The
gray-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,
Chequering
the eastern clouds with streaks of light,
And
flecked darkness like a drunkard reels
From
forth day’s path and Titan’s fiery wheels:
-Friar Laurence
Romeo And Juliet Act II, scene ii, line 1
And it goes on for a bit more, thirty lines to be precise.
It would probably be worthwhile to give you the whole thing, so here it is.
The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning
night,
Chequering 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.
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 sometimes by action dignified.
Within the infant rind of this small 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.
Chequering 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.
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 sometimes by action dignified.
Within the infant rind of this small 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.
This is Friar Laurence by himself in the garden. He’s
talking mostly about the plants and the weeds, and most of it is a metaphor for
life in general, or stuff that's going on in the play. It’s pretty good. Y’all have a pretty good sense of the plot
of Romeo and Juliet. So why don’t you read it, enjoy the language, and think
about the meaning and how it fits in with the story. To help you out a bit: an osier
cage is a basket made out of willow branches, and mickle is a word
that means great.
Okay, go for it.
Well, I didn't think I had a sunrise pic, but this is one. It's a little bit past sunrise, but not much. That's the eastern sky to the left there, and the ice on the trees gleaming in the rising sun.
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