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


Now, by the holy mother of our Lord,

 Thy loving father, Hamlet. Again shall you be mother to a king, Yes, he is dead: how wilt thou do for father? 
Which I have told thee, of my father's death:
 As thus, 'I know his father and his friends, Between the Duke of Gloster and your brothers, I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: He took my father grossly, full of bread; Was that my father that went hence so fast? 
Lost by his father, with all bonds of law,

 And madly play with my forefathers' joints? Your children's children quit it in your age. Which but their children's end naught could remove, and aunt-mother are deceived. They are as children but one step below, The weird sisters, hand in hand, To wail the title, as her mother doth. A care-craz'd mother to a many sons, And by that loss your daughter is made queen. No, good mother, here's metal more attractive. But in your daughter's womb I bury them: On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: More than his father's death, that thus hath put him Would quake to look on. Soft! now to my mother.--