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AUFIDIUS:
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Insolent villain!
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All Conspirators:
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Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him!
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Lords:
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Hold, hold, hold, hold!
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AUFIDIUS:
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My noble masters, hear me speak.
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First Lord:
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O Tullus,--
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Second Lord:
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Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep.
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Third Lord:
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Tread not upon him. Masters all, be quiet;
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Put up your swords.
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AUFIDIUS:
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My lords, when you shall know--as in this rage,
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Provoked by him, you cannot--the great danger
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Which this man's life did owe you, you'll rejoice
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That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours
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To call me to your senate, I'll deliver
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Myself your loyal servant, or endure
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Your heaviest censure.
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First Lord:
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Bear from hence his body;
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And mourn you for him: let him be regarded
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As the most noble corse that ever herald
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Did follow to his urn.
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Second Lord:
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His own impatience
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Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame.
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Let's make the best of it.
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AUFIDIUS:
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My rage is gone;
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And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up.
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Help, three o' the chiefest soldiers; I'll be one.
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Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully:
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Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he
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Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one,
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Which to this hour bewail the injury,
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Yet he shall have a noble memory. Assist.
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GLOUCESTER:
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Now is the winter of our discontent
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Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
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And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
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In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
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Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;
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Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;
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Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
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Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
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Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
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And now, instead of mounting barded steeds
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To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
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He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
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To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
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But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks,
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Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
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I, that am rudely stamp'd, and want love's majesty
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To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
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I, that am curtail'd of this fair proportion,
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Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,
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Deformed, unfinish'd, sent before my time
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Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
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And that so lamely and unfashionable
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That dogs bark at me as I halt by them;
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Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,
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Have no delight to pass away the time,
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Unless to spy my shadow in the sun
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And descant on mine own deformity:
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And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,
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To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
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I am determined to prove a villain
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And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
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Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
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By drunken prophecies, libels and dreams,
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To set my brother Clarence and the king
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In deadly hate the one against the other:
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And if King Edward be as true and just
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As I am subtle, false and treacherous,
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This day should Clarence closely be mew'd up,
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About a prophecy, which says that 'G'
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Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
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Dive, thoughts, down to my soul: here
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Clarence comes.
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Brother, good day; what means this armed guard
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That waits upon your grace?
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CLARENCE:
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