William Shakespeare — "Away! Thou'rt poison to my blood."
Away! Thou'rt poison to my blood.
Away! Thou'rt poison to my blood.
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"Out, dunghill!"
"To be, or not to be: that is the question."
"I must to the barber's, monsieur; for methinks, I am marvellous hairy about the face: and I am such a tender ass, if my hair do but tickle me, I must scratch."
"Away, you starvelling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's-tongue, bull's-pizzle, you stock-fish!"
"The quality of mercy is not strained."
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