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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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Of these supposed crimes to give me leave,

 Transports his poison'd shot,--may miss our name, Than such a murder is. Murder most foul, as in the best it is; Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry,-- Search, seek, and know how this foul murder comes. Your skill shall, like a star in the darkest night, Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd murder, A brother's murder!--Pray can I not, Tybalt, that murderer, which way ran he? Fell slaughter on their souls: heaven rest them now! There is NO remote control needed with these micro wonders.   To their vile murders: roasted in wrath and fire, And in this brainish apprehension, kills 
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature
 Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murderer dead; 
Here is a friar, and slaughter'd Romeo's man,

 That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd, For thee to slaughter: for my daughters, Richard,-- We must with all our majesty and skill For false forswearing, and for murder too: