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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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Methought their souls whose bodies Richard murder'd

 As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead? 
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
 For now they kill me with a living death. Had I but died an hour before this chance, And leave him all; life, living, all is death's. That living mortals, hearing them, run mad;-- Let every soldier hew him down a bough, Then you conclude, my grandam, he is dead. And the dire death of my poor sons and brothers? And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms, And call the noblest to the audience. Lest thou increase the number of the dead; Death of thy soul! those linen cheeks of thine Or let me die, to look on death no more!