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Cliquer sur les vers pour les voir dans leur contexte. Les pièces de Shakespeare sont disponibles auprès du Projet Gutenberg.

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Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature

 Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice A second time I kill my husband dead My wife kill'd too? Murder most foul, as in the best it is; Was by a mousing owl hawk'd at and kill'd. Could draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain; For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, In the division of each several crime, From all the slaughters, wretch, that thou hast done! Doth not she think me an old murderer, I had a Henry, till a Richard kill'd him: His secret murders sticking on his hands; And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me. It is here, Hamlet: Hamlet, thou art slain; My husband lives, that Tybalt would have slain; But in battalions! First, her father slain:  To their vile murders: roasted in wrath and fire, Like to a murdering piece, in many places 
You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;