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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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Doth not she think me an old murderer,

 Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts, 
  • That have a father kill'd, a mother stain'd,
 There is thy gold; worse poison to men's souls, 
  • Of these supposed crimes to give me leave,
 There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried, "Murder!" What though I kill'd her husband and her father? Behold this pattern of thy butcheries.-- 
  • To hide the slain?--O, from this time forth,
 Doth not she think me an old murderer, Have told me, I being by, that I should kill him? And all those twenty could but kill one life. The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit: He has kill'd me, mother: 
It is a poison temper'd by himself.--
 Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder. His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God! 
Of these supposed crimes to give me leave,
 A murderer and a villain; That I, the son of a dear father murder'd, Ay, and since too, murders have been perform'd So crimeful and so capital in nature,