Monday, July 21, 2008
Activity11((Incomplete))
is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,--Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!--It is the cause.--Yet I'll not shed her blood;Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,And smooth as monumental alabaster.[Takes off his sword.]Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.Put out the light, and then put out the light:If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,I can again thy former light restore,Should I repent me:--but once put out thy light,Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,I know not where is that Promethean heatThat can thy light relume. When I have pluck'd thy rose,I cannot give it vital growth again,It must needs wither:--I'll smell it on the tree.--
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