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Click on the verses to see them in context. Shakespeare's plays are available from the Gutenberg Projet.

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By this one bloody trial of sharp war.

 
And God, not we, hath plagu'd thy bloody deed.

 Free from our feasts and banquets bloody knives; 
With thy keen sword impress, as make me bleed:

 I have no more sons of the royal blood As thou dost swallow up this good king's blood, Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled Would to the bleeding and the grim alarm Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war. To-morrow are let blood at Pomfret Castle; And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood, For blood of ours shed blood of Montague.-- Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare, 
Dry sorrow drinks our blood. Adieu, adieu!
 Nearer in bloody thoughts, an not in blood,