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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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Look, whether he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears in's

 
With barefac'd power sweep him from my sight,
 Thou wrong'st it more than tears with that report. Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood. Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears And therefore I forbid my tears: but yet For me to joy and weep their gain and loss: That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and foe, They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way O, I cry you mercy; you are the singer: I will say for you. Your eyes drop millstones when fools' eyes fall tears: These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I; Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help! Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears. Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, 
They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens;

 Why do you weep so oft, and beat your breast, Wash they his wounds with tears: mine shall be spent,  Why, let the strucken deer go weep, If he were dead, you'ld weep for him: if you would not, it Shows itself pure: he weeps for what is done.  Maintains such falsehood, then turn tears to fires;