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-rous'd [with some] distemperature;
[Or if not so], then here I hit it right,
Our Romeo hath not been in bed to-night.