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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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Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot

 A husband and a son thou ow'st to me,-- Madam, your mother craves a word with you. Nor when thy warlike father, like a child, My son George Stanley is frank'd up in hold: And with my child my joys are buried! Are but as pictures: 'tis the eye of childhood But, you must know, your father lost a father; 
Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles?

 And in the breath of bitter words let's smother Better it were they all came by his father, My father, in his habit as he liv'd! Our fatherless distress was left unmoan'd, But yet to me they are strong. The queen his mother