Romeo and Juliet

Benvolio

Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

Romeo

Not mad, but bound more than a madman is:
Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipped and tormented and —
[Romeo and Benvolio notice the servant who has approached them]

Servant

Romeo

Servant

Romeo

Servant

Romeo

[Romeo reads]

Servant

Romeo

Servant

Romeo

Servant

Romeo

Servant

[Exit servant]

Benvolio

Romeo

Benvolio

Romeo

[Exit]

Benvolio

Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning;
One pain is lessened by another's anguish;
Turn giddy and be holp by backward turning;
One desperate grief cures with another's languish.
Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.                         

Romeo

Your plantain leaf is excellent for that.

Benvolio

For what, I pray thee?

Romeo

For your broken shin.

Benvolio

Why, Romeo, art thou mad?

Romeo

Not mad, but bound more than a madman is:
Shut up in prison, kept without my food,
Whipped and tormented and —
[Romeo and Benvolio notice the servant who has approached them]

Servant

Romeo

Servant

Romeo

Servant

Romeo

[Romeo reads]

Servant

Romeo

Servant

Romeo

Servant

Romeo

Servant

[Exit servant]

Benvolio

Romeo

Benvolio

Romeo

[Exit]

Servant

Find them out whose names are written here! It is
written that the shoemaker should meddle with his
yard, and the tailor with his last, the fisher with          
his pencil, and the painter with his nets. But I am
sent to find those persons whose names are here
writ, and can never find what names the writing
person hath here writ. I must to the learned  —  in good time.

Capulet

At my poor house look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light.
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparelled April on the heel
Of limping Winter treads — even such delight
Among fresh fennel buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house. Hear all, all see                           

Paris

Younger than she are happy mothers made.

Capulet

And too soon marred are those so early made.
The earth hath swallowed all my hopes but she;
She's the hopeful lady of my earth.
But woo her, gentle Paris, get her heart.

Capulet

But saying o'er what I have said before:
My child is yet a stranger in the world;
She hath not seen the change of fourteen years.
Let two more summers wither in their pride,
Ere we may think her ripe to be a bride.

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