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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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Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring;

 
  • These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I;
 I would these dewy tears were from the ground. I would these dewy tears were from the ground. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears: How can we aid you with our kindred tears? Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help! These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I; My fate cries out, 
Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help!

 Ay, millstones; as he lesson'd us to weep. They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: Cry but 'Ah me!' pronounce but Love and dove; Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment.  Or, wanting that, with tears distill'd by moans: Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse, Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,-- Woul't weep? woul't fight? woul't fast? woul't tear thyself? I would these dewy tears were from the ground. How cheerfully on the false trail they cry!