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,
Whipp'd and tormented and—[Good-den], good fellow.