To saucy doubts and fears.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.

Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York; And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

No doubt they rose up early to observe the rite of May; and, hearing our intent, Came here in grace of our solemnity.

Obey thy parents, keep thy word justly; swear not; commit not with man's sworn spouse; set not thy sweet heart on proud array. * * * Keep thy foot out of brothels, thy pen from lenders' books.

Benvolio: What sadness lengthens Romeo's hours? Romeo: Not having that, which, having, makes them short.