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I dreamt my lady came and found me dead,-- And mortal eyes cannot endure the devil.-- And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, Would it were mortal poison, for thy sake! [To RICHMOND.] I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid: Who knows not he is dead! Who knows he is? Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead.-- For the ingredients of our caldron. Are crack'd in pieces by malignant death, Is Romeo slaughter'd, and is Tybalt dead? Alas, I blame you not; for you are mortal, Craving us jointly. Hie you to horse: adieu, Think on Lord Hastings: despair and die!--