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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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To the dead bodies: I will apprehend him.--

 And sayest thou yet that exile is not death! And fall thy edgeless sword: despair and die!-- Make haste; the hour of death is expiate. 
As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers,

 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, Compare dead happiness with living woe; I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, Death makes no conquest of this conqueror; But chiefly to take thence from her dead finger The readiest way to make the wench amends Out on you, owls! Nothing but songs of death? That, when the brains were out, the man would die, Were for myself: and so, my lord, adieu.  As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder And call the noblest to the audience. And drop into the rotten mouth of death. Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war. Of bloody strokes and mortal-staring war. 
Lest thou increase the number of the dead;

 These dead men's tombs. Too late he died that might have kept that title, Sirrah, your father's dead;