ACT II

Scene Three

Scene comes into view with Shaman Jesabar, a small older man with long gray hair running down his back, the hair line on the top of his head receding from his sun baked brown face, as he walks about his large garden, now and then leaning over and checking the plants with his rough wrinkling hands.

He looks up at the sky as he picks a few pods of sweet peas and sets them into the large front pockets of his gardening apron, which is dirty and worn from use.

"The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night,
Piercing 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," he chuckled with a deep hoarse voice that only comes with age.

"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, fickle is the powerful grace that lies
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:
For not so vile that on the earth doth live
But to the earth some special good doth give, " He smiles picking up a small purple flower

"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." He frowns ironically fingering the small flower with his brown-callused fingers.

"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." He finished looking back down to the rest of his garden letting the flower fall to the soft brown earth.

Roxton suddenly is seen as he comes running into the scene and jumps almost silently over the small stonewall and stands waiting for the old shaman to look up, but he does not.

Instead he smiles to himself aware of the young mans presence wanting him to make the first move, for it is to early for this to be a typical visit.

"Good Morrow sage!" Roxton calls to the old man

"Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me?" The old man played looking up, but around in the opposite direction of Roxton.

"Young son, it argues a distempered 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
Does couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign:
Therefore thy earliness doth me assure
Thou art up-roused by some distemperature; " he said stopping his searching of the landscape and standing with his back to Roxton and then beginning to turn slowly

"Or if not so, then here I hit it right, our Roxton hath not been in bed to-night." He smiles suspiciously crossing his arms as he is now facing Roxton.

"That last is true; the sweeter rest was mine." Roxton laughs walking over to the man

"God pardon sin! Were thou with Rosaline?!" the Shaman asks uncrossing his arms the thought disturbing him

"With Rosaline, my ghostly father? No; I have forgot that name, and that name's woe." Roxton said merrily picking up the shaman's basket of seed and throwing handfuls of it over the garden as he had grown accustomed to do when so often visiting the old man.

"That's my good son" The Shaman smiles putting a hand on Roxton's back then his head perked up his face turning a bit more serious " but where have you been, then?"

Roxton spun around his expression one of great joy and excitement, "I'll tell thee, ere you 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 your help and holy physic lies: I bear no hatred, blessed man, for, lo, My intercession likewise steads my foe."

The Shaman stood still his brow furrowed in a concerned confusion, "Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift; riddling confession finds but riddling shrift." He laughed ironically shaking his head.

"Then plainly know my heart's dear love is set on the fair daughter of rich Capulet:" Roxton said spinning back his whole spirit lifted with the joy that came with the thought of his dear Marguerite.

The shaman's eyebrow raised suddenly alarmed at the young man's confession.

"As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine; and all combined, save what you 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 you consent to marry us to-day." Roxton finished looking at the shaman in earnest for his answer.

The shaman stepped back looking solemn as though he was processing what he had just been told, not yet having comprehended it's meaning.

"Holy Saint Francis!!!!" he yelled out suddenly throwing his arms out animating his shock. "What a change is here! Is Rosaline, whom thou loved so dear, so soon forsaken? Young men's love then lies not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes." He groaned turning away from Roxton putting his face in his hand as he kneeled to the ground to continue with his garden.
"Jesu Maria, what a deal of brine has washed your sallow cheeks for Rosaline! How much salt water thrown away in waste, to season love, that of it doth not taste!" he grumbled to himself remembering how Roxton had grieved over his unreturned love for Rosaline. Roxton walked over and crouched down opposite him so he could see the old shaman's face.
"The sun not yet thy sighs from heaven clears, your 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 ever you waste 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. " Jesabar said quickly waving a pointed shovel in a warning manner toward Roxton's face.

"Thou teased me often for loving Rosaline." Roxton reminded sweetly

"For doting, not for loving, pupil mine." Jesabar returned in the same tone

"And worse me bury love." Roxton commented looking off behind him

"Not in a grave, to lay one in, another out to have." The shaman said like an old passage as he pressed the roots of a newly planted flower into the ground.

"I pray thee, kid not; she whom I love now doth grace for grace and love for love allow; The other did not so." Roxton said almost in earnest trying to convince his mentor that he had honest motives.

"O, she knew well your love did read by rote and could not spell. But come, young waverer, come, come with me. In one respect I'll thy assistant be; for this alliance may so happy prove, to turn your households' bitterness to pure love." The shaman smiled standing and beginning to walk toward his large ceremonial hut, Roxton following at his heals apprehensive, stopping only once to pick up the forgotten basket of seed.

"O, let us hence; I stand on sudden haste." Roxton said impatiently as they entered the elaborate hut.

"SHHH" the Shaman hushed turning around sharply to stop the young man's loud ranting in the place of worship.

Roxton nodded a bit of guilt and embarrassment on his face as the shaman turned and walked farther into the familiar shelter.

"Wisely and slow; they stumble that run fast." Jesabar chuckled as he ushered Roxton into his living chamber for further discussion.

 End of Scene Three