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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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When holy Harry died, and my sweet son.

 Ungovern'd youth, to wail it in their age; And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell Is often laudable; to do good sometime Stay, I will go with you. Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing; You say that Edward is your brother's son: And sleep in spite of thunder.--What is this, O brother Montague, give me thy hand: And yet not proud:--mistress minion, you, To lay one in, another out to have. How you were borne in hand, how cross'd, the instruments, In that dim monument where Tybalt lies. 
Here comes the furious Tybalt back again.

 Shall raise such artificial sprites, But, soft, behold! lo, where it comes again! I would the friends we miss were safe arriv'd. Up With my tent! Here will I lie to-night; But I will write again to Mantua, My lord, upon the platform where we watch'd. So, when he opens his purse to give us our reward, Yet put it out, for I would not be seen. Thy head, all indirectly, gave direction: And when we have our naked frailties hid, What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look