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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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Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse:

 Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries. I cry thee mercy then; for I did think Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears. And make poor England weep in streams of blood! I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; With barefac'd power sweep him from my sight, 
And make poor England weep in streams of blood!
 How cheerfully on the false trail they cry! 
Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.
 To stop the inundation of her tears; Cry to be heard, as 'twere from heaven to earth,