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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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Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears.

 That I have? He would drown the stage with tears The cry is still, "They come:" our castle's strength Here is a friar, that trembles, sighs, and weeps: May sweep to my revenge. Look, whether he has not turn'd his colour, and has tears in's 
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,

 For I myself have many tears to wash  
She for an Edward weeps, and so do I:
 May send forth plenteous tears to drown the world! Woul't weep? woul't fight? woul't fast? woul't tear thyself? Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss.