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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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O momentary grace of mortal men,

 But two months dead!--nay, not so much, not two: Who knows not he is dead! Who knows he is? Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, 
If you will live, lament; if die, be brief,
 Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu, To muddy death. O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! This is thy sheath [stabs herself]; there rest, and let me die. Our bosom interest:--go pronounce his present death, And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death! When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.  No, no, he is dead, Like powder in a skilless soldier's flask,