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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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Who knows not that the gentle duke is dead?

 Wert thou not banished on pain of death? If he were dead, what would betide on me? Death is my son-in-law, death is my heir; James Tyrrel, and your most obedient subject. Evermore weeping for your cousin's death? Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, 
Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death,
  Unless things mortal move them not at all,-- My daughter he hath wedded: I will die. My father is not dead, for all your saying. As we have warranties: her death was doubtful; Look'd pale when they did hear of Clarence' death? Thou hadst but power over his mortal body, Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news! Wert thou not banished on pain of death? 
Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie,
 And hide me with a dead man in his shroud; Devoutly to be wish'd. To die,--to sleep;-- It may be death. Told the sad story of my father's death,