William Shakespeare
(page 2)
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Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move.
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.
Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.
If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?