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--God-den, good fellow.

Servant.
God gi' go-den.--I pray, sir, can you read?

Romeo.
Ay, mine own fortune in my misery.

Servant.
Perhaps you have learned it without book:
but I pray, can you read anything you see?

Romeo.
Ay, If I know the letters and the language.