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Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak So may he rest: his faults lie gently on him! Whispers the o'erfraught heart, and bids it break.

Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 3.

SHAKESPEARE.

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Henry VIII., Activ. Sc. 2.

SHAKESPEARE.

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What though no friends in sable weeds appear,
Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year,
And bear about the mockery of woe
To midnight dances and the public show!
To the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady.

POPE.

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I was Ever thus ! _ Euch hour.

Still incremitting, bought
Some newer form of grip

Some newer

I came,

or shame,

case for thought. M. Wilmine hui

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