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        |  Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this son of York; And all the clouds that low'r'd upon our house  In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.   |  | 
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        | And therefore, since I cannot prove a villain To entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain And hate the idle pleasures of these days. |  | 
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He cannot live, I hope, and must not die Til George be pack'd with post-horse up to heaven. I'll in, to urge his hatred more to Clarence With lies well steel'd with weighty arguments And if I fail not in my deep intent,  Clarence hath not another day to live |  | 
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        | Richard of Gloucester speaking of Lady Anne |  | Definition 
 
        | Was ever a woman in this humor woo'd? Was ever woman in this humor won?I'll have her, but I will not keep her long.
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        | Now for I know the Britain Richmond aims At young Elizabeth, my brother's daughter,  And by that knot looks proudly on the crown,  To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. |  | 
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        | Lady Anne speaking of Richard |  | Definition 
 
        |  Foul devil, for God's sake hence, trouble us not, For thou hast made the happy earth thy hell,  Fill'd it with cursing cries and deep exclaims. |  | 
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        | Queen Elizabeth speaking to Richard when he asks to woo young Elizabeth |  | Definition 
 
        | Shall I be tempted of the devil thus? |  | 
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 Methought that Gloucester stumbled and in falling, Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard Into the tumbling billows of the main. O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown, What dreadful noise of waters in my ears, What sights of ugly death within my eyes.  |  | 
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        | The tyrannous and bloody act is done, The most arch deed of piteous massacre That ever yet this land was guilty of. Dighton and Forrest, whom I did suborn To do this piece of ruthless butchery, Albeit they were fleshed villains, bloody dogs, Melted with tenderness and mild compassion, Wept like two children in their deaths' sad story.  |  | 
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        | the second murderer in Richard III, after they kill Clarence |  | Definition 
 
        | A bloody deed, and desperately dispatched. How fain, like Pilate, would I wash my hands Of this most grievous murder. |  | 
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        | Make us thy ministers of chastisement, That we may praise thee in the victory! To thee I do commend my watchful soul, Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes. Sleeping and waking, O, defend me still! |  | 
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        |  Give me another horse! Bind up my wounds! 
Have mercy, Jesu!—Soft, I did but dream. O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. What do I fear? Myself? There’s none else by. |  | 
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        | God and our good cause fight upon our side |  | 
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        | A scum of Britains and base lackey peasants, 
Whom their o'ercloyed country vomits forth |  | 
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        |  O, gentlemen, see, see dead Henry’s wounds 
Open their congealed mouths and bleed afresh!— Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity, For ’tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins where no blood dwells. |  | 
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Dost grant me, hedgehog? Then, God grant me too Thou mayst be damnèd for that wicked deed. O, he was gentle, mild, and virtuous. |  | 
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        | Thou elvish-marked, abortive, rooting hog, Thou that wast sealed in thy nativity The slave of nature and the son of hell, Thou slander of thy heavy mother’s womb, Thou loathèd issue of thy father’s loins, Thou rag of honor, thou detested— |  | 
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        | Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune, Why strew’st thou sugar on that bottled spider, Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about? Fool, fool, thou whet’st a knife to kill thyself. The day will come that thou shalt wish for me To help thee curse that poisonous bunch-backed toad.  |  | 
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        | Then forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept 
A hellhound that doth hunt us all to death— That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, To worry lambs and lap their gentle blood; |  | 
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        | hell’s black intelligencer, 
Only reserved their factor to buy souls And send them thither. But at hand, at hand Ensues his piteous and unpitied end. |  | 
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        | O, full of danger is the duke of Gloucester, 
And the queen’s sons and brothers haught and proud, And were they to be ruled, and not to rule, This sickly land might solace as before. |  | 
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        | Why, so. Now have I done a good day’s work. You peers, continue this united league. I every day expect an embassage From my Redeemer to redeem me hence, And more in peace my soul shall part to heaven Since I have made my friends at peace on earth |  | 
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        | Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me as I halt by them— Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time, Unless to see my shadow in the sun And descant on mine own deformity.  |  | 
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        | But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks, Nor made to court an amorous looking glass; I, that am rudely stamped and want love’s majesty To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;  |  | 
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        | Messenger speaking of Stanley's dream |  | Definition 
 
        | Then certifies your Lordship that this night 
He dreamt the boar had razèd his helm Besides, he says there are two councils kept, And that may be determined at the one Which may make you and him to rue at th' other. |  | 
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        |  Did I enjoyed the golden dew of sleep, 
But with his timorous dreams was still awaked. Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick, And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me. |  | 
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        |  I’ll attend her here And woo her with some spirit when she comes. Say that she rail; why then I’ll tell her plain She sings as sweetly as a nightingale. Say that she frown; I’ll say she looks as clear As morning roses newly washed with dew. Say she be mute and will not speak a word; Then I’ll commend her volubility, And say she uttereth piercing eloquence.  |  | 
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        |  No, not a whit. I find you passing gentle. 
'Twas told me you were rough and coy and sullen, And now I find report a very liar. For thou are pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous, But slow in speech, yet sweet as springtime flowers. Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance, Nor bite the lip as angry wenches will, Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk. |  | 
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        | Call you me daughter? Now, I promise you 
You have showed a tender fatherly regard To wish me wed to one half lunatic, A mad-cup ruffian and a swearing Jack, That thinks with oaths to face the matter out. |  | 
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        |  Father, ’tis thus: yourself and all the world 
That talked of her have talked amiss of her. If she be curst, it is for policy, For she’s not froward, but modest as the dove. She is not hot, but temperate as the morn. For patience she will prove a second Grissel, And Roman Lucrece for her chastity. And to conclude, we have 'greed so well together, That upon Sunday is the wedding day. |  | 
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        | And, in conclusion, she shall watch all night, And if she chance to nod I’ll rail and brawl, And with the clamor keep her still awake. This is a way to kill a wife with kindness, And thus I’ll curb her mad and headstrong humor. He that knows better how to tame a shrew, Now let him speak; ’tis charity to show. |  | 
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        | No shame but mine. I must, forsooth, be forced 
To give my hand, opposed against my heart, Unto a mad-brain rudesby, full of spleen, Who wooed in haste and means to wed at leisure. I told you, I, he was a frantic fool, Hiding his bitter jests in blunt behavior, And, to be noted for a merry man, |  | 
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        | Fie, fie! Unknit that threat'ning unkind brow 
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor. It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads, Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds, And in no sense is meet or amiable. A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty, And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it. Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, |  | 
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Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth, Unapt to toil and trouble in the world, But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts? Come, come, you froward and unable worms! |  | 
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        | Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot, 
And place your hands below your husband’s foot: In token of which duty, if he please, My hand is ready, may it do him ease. |  | 
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        | Now, by my mother’s son, and that’s myself, 
It shall be moon, or star, or what I list, Or e'er I journey to your father’s house. (to servants) Go on, and fetch our horses back again.— Evermore crossed and crossed, nothing but crossed! |  | 
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        |  Then God be blessed, it is the blessèd sun. 
But sun it is not, when you say it is not, And the moon changes even as your mind. |  | 
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        |  Young budding virgin, fair and fresh and sweet, 
Whither away, or where is thy abode? Happy the parents of so fair a child. Happier the man whom favorable stars Allot thee for his lovely bedfellow! |  | 
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        |  Good sister, wrong me not nor wrong yourself, 
To make a bondmaid and a slave of me. That I disdain. But for these other goods— Unbind my hands, I’ll pull them off myself, Yea, all my raiment to my petticoat, Or what you will command me will I do, So well I know my duty to my elders. |  | 
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        |  Of all thy suitors here I charge thee tell 
Whom thou lovest best. See thou dissemble not. |  | 
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Believe me, sister, of all the men alive I never yet beheld that special face Which I could fancy more than any other. |  | 
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