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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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And there did seem in him a kind of joy

 Unto the rigour of severest law. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? You laying these slight sullies on my son The spring, the head, the fountain of your blood Not half so big as a round little worm Remnants of packthread, and old cakes of roses, Against my near'st of life; and though I could That my keen knife see not the wound it makes I have a daughter,--have whilst she is mine,-- Nay, but swear't. discretion. I take thee at thy word: 
  • On wholesome life usurp immediately.
 Those that we bury back, our monuments Madam, in happy time, what day is that? Dive, thoughts, down to my soul:--here Clarence comes. To sing a requiem and such rest to her