Storyboard for Mr. Ferguson's class 1/23/17
The clock struck nine when I did send the nurse; In half an hour she promised to return... Now is the sun upon the highmost hill Of this day's journey, and from nine till twelve Is three long hours, yet she is not come.
Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She would be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me. But old folks, many feign as they were dead; Unwieldy, slow, heavy and pale as lead.
O God, she comes! O honey nurse, what news?
I am aweary, give me leave awhile. Fie, how my bones ache! What a jaunce have I had!
I would thou hadst my bones, and I thy news. Nay, come, I pray thee, speak; good, good nurse, speak.
Jesus, what haste? Can you not stay awhile? Do you not see that I am out of breath?
What says he of our marriage? What of that?
Have you got leave to go to shrift to-day?
Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell; There stays a husband to make you a wife.
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