o churl! drunk all,, and left no friendly drop
to help me after? I will kiss thy lips
haply some poison yet doth hang on them,,
to make die with a restorative
friends,romans,countrymen,lend me ur ears:i come to bury *****, not to praise him,the evil that men do lives after them,the good is oft interred with thier bones...
"Your ring will always be on my finger, your heart in my heart, the touch of your lips on mine. But you must go and I must stay. Perhaps I must do what it kills me to think of doing."
