Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Fri. O then I see, that Mad men haue no eares.
Rom. Rom.
Rom. How should they,
Rom. When wisemen haue no eyes?
Fri. Fri.
Fri. Let me dispaire with thee of thy estate,
Rom. Thou can'st not speake of that yu dost not feele,
Rom. Wert thou as young as Iuliet my Loue:
Rom. An houre but married, Tybalt murdered,
Rom. Doting like me, and like me banished,
Rom. Then mightest thou speake,
Rom. Then mightest thou teare thy hayre,
Rom. And fall vpon the ground as I doe now,
Rom. Taking the measure of an vnmade graue.
Rom. Enter Nurse, and knockes.
Frier. Frier.
Frier. Arise one knockes,
Frier. Good Romeo hide thy selfe.