Reading The Tragedy of Richard the Third — William Shakespeare

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Qu.

Stay, yet looke backe with me vnto the Tower.

Pitty, you ancient Stones, those tender Babes,

Whom Enuie hath immur'd within your Walls,

Rough Cradle for such little prettie ones,

Rude ragged Nurse, old sullen Play‑fellow,

For tender Princes: vse my Babies well;

So foolish Sorrowes bids your Stones farewell.

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