ROMEO.
O, thou wilt speak again of banishment.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
I’ll give thee armour to keep off that word,
Adversity’s sweet milk, philosophy,
To comfort thee, though thou art banished.
ROMEO.
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.
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
O, then I see that mad men have no ears.
ROMEO.
How should they, when that wise men have no eyes?
FRIAR LAWRENCE.
Let me dispute with thee of thy estate.
ROMEO. Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel. Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love,