act 2, scene 3
Good Morrow, Father.
Benedicite! What early tongue so sweet saluteth me? Young son, it argues a distemper'd 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 Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign: Therefore thy earliness doth me assure Thou art up-roused by some distemperature; Or if not so, then here I hit it right, Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.
Explore Our Articles and Examples
Try Our Other Websites!
Photos for Class
– Search for School-Safe, Creative Commons Photos (It Even Cites for You!
– Easily Make and Share Great-Looking Rubrics
– Create Custom Nursery Art