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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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My father, in his habit as he liv'd!

 You have a daughter call'd Elizabeth. That is the butt end of a mother's blessing; Uncle, my brother mocks both you and me; I cannot blame her: by God's holy mother, Bishop of Exeter, his elder brother, To wail the title, as her mother doth. Be to thy person, noble father-in-law! Dream on thy cousins smothered in the Tower: To give these mourning duties to your father; The brother blindly shed the brother's blood, And will this brother's wager frankly play.-- 
  • The son of Clarence have I pent up close;
 He has no children.--All my pretty ones? My children too? Her mother is the lady of the house. Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops: I dreamt last night of the three weird sisters: A husband and a son thou ow'st to me,-- But in your daughter's womb I bury them: With which she followed my poor father's body