𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱; 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘣𝘺𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘯.

𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘐𝘐, 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘐𝘐𝘐; 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯'.

"The smiling morning is replacing the frowning night. Darkness is stumbling out of the sun's path like a drunk man. Now, before the sun comes up and burns away the dew, I have to fill this basket of mine with poisonous weeds and medicinal flowers." Friar Lawrence sighed, carrying his basket. 

"Good morning, father." Corbyn greeted him.

"God bless you. Who greets me so early in the morning? Young man, something's wrong if you're getting out of bed this early." He turned around and saw Corbyn, "Every old man has worries, and worried men never get any sleep, but young men shouldn't have a care in the world. They should get to bed early and get plenty of sleep. Therefore, the fact that you're awake this early tells me you've been upset with some anxiety. If that's not the case, then this must be the answer: You, Corbyn, have not been to bed tonight."

"Your last guess is right. I enjoyed a sweeter rest than sleep." Corbyn grinned.

"May God forgive you if you've sinned! -were you with Rosaline?" Friar Lawrence asked.

"With Rosaline, father? No, I have forgotten that girl and all the sadness she brought me." Corbyn raised his eyebrows.

"That's good, my boy. But where have you been?" Friar Lawrence questioned.

"I'll tell you before you have to ask me again. I have been feasting with my enemy. Suddenly someone wounded me with love and was wounded with love by me." He frowned,  "You have the sacred power to cure both of us. I carry no hatred, holy man, because my request will benefit my enemy."

"Speak plainly, make your meaning clear, my son. A jumbled confession can only receive a jumbled absolution." Friar Lawrence raised an eyebrow, not understanding.

"I love rich Capulet's daughter. I love her, and she loves me. We're bound to each other in every possible way, except we need you to marry us. I'll tell you more later about when and where we met, how we fell in love, and how we exchanged promises, but now I'm begging you: please, agree to marry us today." Corbyn protested. 

"Holy Saint Francis, this is a drastic change! Have you given up so quickly on Rosaline, whom you loved so much?" He gasped, "If you were ever yourself, and this sadness was yours, you and your sadness were all for Rosaline. And now you've changed? Then repeat this after me: you can't expect women to be faithful when men are so unreliable."

"You scolded me often for loving Rosaline." Corbyn frowned.

"I scolded you for obsessing about her, not for loving her, my student." Friar Lawerence corrected.

"And you told me to bury my love." He pointed out.

"I didn't tell you to get rid of one love and replace her with another." Friar Lawerence told him.

"Please, I beg you, don't scold me. The girl I love now returns my love. The other girl did not love me." Corbyn nodded frantically.

"Oh, she knew very well that you were acting like you were in love without really knowing what love means." He sighed, "I'll help you with your secret wedding. This marriage may be lucky enough to turn the hatred between your families into pure love."

"Let's get out of here. I'm in a rush." Corbyn told him. 

"Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall." Friar Lawerence said.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵　　‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦.
𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘥𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯.