Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Fri. Young Sonne, it argues a distempered head,
Fri. So soone to bid goodmorrow to thy bed;
Fri. Care keepes his watch in euery old mans eye,
Fri. And where Care lodges, sleepe will neuer lye:
Fri. But where vnbrused youth with vnstuft braine
Fri. Doth couch his lims, there, golden sleepe doth raigne;
Fri. Therefore thy earlinesse doth me assure,
Fri. Thou art vprous'd with some distemprature;
Fri. Or if not so, then here I hit it right.
Fri. Our Romeo hath not beene in bed to night.
Rom. Rom.
Rom. That last is true, the sweeter rest was mine.
Fri. Fri.
Fri. God pardon sin: wast thou with Rosaline?
Rom. With Rosaline, my ghostly Father? No,
Rom. I haue forgot that name, and that names woe.
Fri. That's my good Son, but wher hast thou bin then?