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Click on the verses to see them in context. Shakespeare's plays are available from the Gutenberg Projet.


My damned son, that thy two sweet sons smother'd.

 No better term than this,--Thou art a villain. Affrights thee with a hell of ugly devils! In thy foul throat thou liest: Queen Margaret saw Then be your eyes the witness of their evil: Ah, gentle villain, do not turn away! That would make good of bad, and friends of foes! But, like the owner of a foul disease, Wrong not her birth; she is of royal blood. Hold me a foe; But, O, the devil,"--there the villain stopp'd; 
That foul defacer of God's handiwork;
 A baseness to write fair, and labour'd much If damned custom have not braz'd it so The multiplying villainies of nature Arm, arm, my lord; the foe vaunts in the field. Between these swelling wrong-incensed peers. If you do fight against your country's foes, Wrong not her birth; she is of royal blood. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes Be thy intents wicked or charitable, Thou drown the sad remembrance of those wrongs So foul and fair a day I have not seen. What devil art thou, that dost torment me thus?