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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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Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs, and weeps:

 And make poor England weep in streams of blood! Weep our sad bosoms empty. All this is comfort; wherefore weep I, then? How can we aid you with our kindred tears? And twenty times made pause, to sob and weep, Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; How can we aid you with our kindred tears? 
Like Niobe, all tears;--why she, even she,--

 Cry but 'Ah me!' pronounce but Love and dove; Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent, Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary I cry thee mercy then; for I did think Your eyes drop millstones when fools' eyes fall tears: If he were dead, you'ld weep for him: if you would not, it  Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires; No, coz, I rather weep. Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast,