What sight through yonder dressing room breaks?
Why, ’tis my lad, dressed thusly as he is a royal Montague, the father of fair Romeo.
He and his compatriots hath wrought a play of magnificence, such as the world hath never before seen, or so hath they promised.
Lean and lank grows the lad, who will pass his 14th turn around the sun this Sunday.
Woe is the mother who lingers in the past, recalling the days of tiny feet, pudgy fingers, blonde curls and a lisp. Oh how he lispeth!
Lispeth lispeth lispeth.
She misseth his lispeth.
Hahahahaha! I must be tired.
Play runs tonight, tomorrow and Saturday.
In the meantime, I’m going to prepare for next Tuesday’s Talk Like Shakepeare Day, in honour of the Bard’s 449th birthday!
The Country Mice 