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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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Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,

 To overgo thy woes and drown thy cries? O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven times salt, The cry is still, "They come:" our castle's strength Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? $118 Ay, millstones; as he lesson'd us to weep. So dear I lov'd the man that I must weep. With barefac'd power sweep him from my sight, Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries.  Weep our sad bosoms empty. Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? Art thou a man? thy form cries out thou art; How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!