All of Shakespeare’s plays.
I'll bear thee hence, where I may weep my fill.
Was ever son so rued a father's death?
How will my mother for a father's death
Take on with me and ne'er be satisfied!
Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.
This man, whom hand to hand I slew in fight,
May be possessed with some store of crowns;
And I, that haply take them from him now,
May yet ere night yield both my life and them
To some man else, as this ...
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