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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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Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves.

 Shot from the deadly level of a gun, That cop'st with death himself to scape from it; Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence, God will, in justice, ward you as his soldiers; But didst thou see them dead? O, no, my reasons are too deep and dead;-- Thy Clarence he is dead that stabb'd my Edward; Compare dead happiness with living woe; Who knows not he is dead! Who knows he is? Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love. 
At least we'll die with harness on our back.

 If all else fail, myself have power to die. Who knows not that the gentle duke is dead? Here in Verona, ladies of esteem,