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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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Our son shall win.

 But in your daughter's womb I bury them: Your children's children quit it in your age. My children too? I am their mother; who shall bar me from them? More than his father's death, that thus hath put him The father rashly slaughter'd his own son, 
My daughter's mother thinks it with her soul.
 If you do free your children from the sword, I would he knew that I had sav'd his brother! What though I kill'd her husband and her father? With Rosaline, my ghostly father? no; Your children shall be kings. Be call'd our mother, but our grave: where nothing, My daughter he hath wedded: I will die. The purple sap from her sweet brothers' bodies,