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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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Your royal father's murder'd.

 Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice There art thou happy: Tybalt would kill thee, Never to rise again: thy mother's poison'd: And that bare vowel I shall poison more From the murderer's gibbet throw And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: 
Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf:

 Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. Fool, fool! thou whett'st a knife to kill thyself. Doth not she think me an old murderer, The parents live whose children thou hast butcher'd, From the murderer's gibbet throw Murder most foul, as in the best it is; Doth not she think me an old murderer, Dost thou hear me, old friend? Can you play 'The Murder of We must with all our majesty and skill Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice Will you speak well of him that kill'd your cousin? Our royal master's murder'd! To murder me? I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery.