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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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And wet his grave with my repentant tears,--

 I would these dewy tears were from the ground. To stop the inundation of her tears; For I myself have many tears to wash New widows howl; new orphans cry; new sorrows Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, The liquid drops of tears that you have shed Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; Thy beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary And twenty times made pause, to sob and weep,  Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs, and weeps: Our tears are not yet brew'd. 
Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death,