Father, what news? What in the Prince's doom? What sorrow craves acquaintance at my hand That I yet know not?
Romeo, come fourth; come forth, thou fearful man. Affliction is enamored of thy parts, And thou art wedded to calamity
What less than doomsday is the Prince's doom?
Too familiar Is my dear son with such sour company. I bring thee tidings of the Prince's doom.
Ha, banishment? Be merciful, say "death"; For exile hath more terror in his look, Much more than death. Do not say "banishment"
A gentler judgment vanished from his lips- Not body's death, but body's banishment
There is no world without Verona walls, but purgatory, torture, hell it self. Hence banished is banish from the world, and the world's exile is death. The "banishment," Is death mistermed. Calling death "banishment" Thou cuttst my head off with a golden axe Ans smilest upon the sroke that murders me.
Hence from Verona art thou banished. Be patient, for the world is broad and wide.
O, thou wilt speak again of banishment
thou fond mad man, hear me a little speak.
Yet "banished"? Hang up philosophy! unless philosophy can make Juliet, Displant a town, reverse a prince's doom, It helps not, it prevails not. Talk no more
I'll give thee armor to keep off that word; Adversity's sweet milk, philosophy, To comfort thee, though thou art banished.