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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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This quarry cries on havoc.--O proud death,

 The liquid drops of tears that you have shed Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. I for an Edward weep, so do not they:-- Wherefore was that cry? It is the cry of women, my good lord. I cannot choose but ever weep the friend.  Our tears are not yet brew'd.  Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans: To think it should leave crying, and say 'Ay:' Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,