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Thou fond mad man, hear me a little speak.
O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
I'll give thee armor to keep off that word; Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished.
Yet "banished"? Hang up philosophy! Unless philosophy can make a Juliet, displant a town, reverse a prince's doom, it helps not, it prevails not. Talk no more.
O, then I see that madmen have no ears.
How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?
Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel. Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, an hour but married, Tybalt murded, doting like me, and like me banished, then mightst
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