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Click on the verses to see them in context. Shakespeare's plays are available from the Gutenberg Projet.


The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead.

 And the place death, considering who thou art, To time and mortal custom.--Yet my heart He cannot live, I hope; and must not die Some word there was, worser than Tybalt's death, Of his own just remove: the people muddied, For the ingredients of our caldron. I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, Doth the news hold of good King Edward's death? Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death, Make peace with God, for you must die, my lord. 
Are here arriv'd, give order that these bodies

 Under the moon, can save the thing from death It is 'Adieu, adieu! remember me:' I that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine, Of disobedient opposition And his commission to employ those soldiers, This is thy sheath [stabs herself]; there rest, and let me die. 
O my accursed womb, the bed of death!

  Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, No sudden mean of death, though ne'er so mean, I deleted it, but later I wondered if I should have given it a try. And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm,