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Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty! Make thick my blood; Stop up the access and passage to remorse,
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes, Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark To cry "Hold, hold!"
All our servants In every point tlvice done, and then done double,Were poor and single business to contend Against those honors deep and broad wherewith your majesty loads our house.
Your servants ever Have theirs. themselves, and what is theirs, in compt, To make their audit at your Highness' pleasure, Still to return your own.
Was the hope drunk Wherein you dressed yourself? Hath it slept since' And wakes it now to look so green and pale At what it did so freely'
Does unmake you. I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me. I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums And dashed the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.
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