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And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead, Go to thy deathbed. He never will come again. His beard was as white as snow, All flaxen was his poll.
He is gone, he is gone, And we cast away moan, God ha' mercy on his soul. - And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God be wi' ye.
Do you see this, O God?
Laertes, I must commune with your grief, Or you deny me right. Go but apart,
Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will. And they shall hear and judge ’twixt you and me. If by direct or by collateral hand. They find us touched, we will our kingdom give,
Our crown, our life, and all that we can ours, To you in satisfaction. But if not, Be you content to lend your patience to us, And we shall jointly, labor with your soul. To give it due content.
Let this be so. His means of death, his obscure funeral— No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o'er his bones, No noble rite nor formal ostentation—
Cry to be heard as ’twere from heaven to earth, That I must call ’t in question.
So you shall. And where the offense is, let the great ax fall. I pray you, go with me.
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