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O, beware, my lord, of jealousy It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock The meat it feeds on.
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Thoughts are but dreams till their effects be tried.
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The moon, like to a silver bow New bent in heaven, shall behold the night Of our solemnities.
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For through the painter must you see his skill, To find where your true image pictured lies,...
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We will have rings and things, and fine array, And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o' Sunday.
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