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06 Kasım, 2008 / 14:27
... Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here
and fill me from the crown to the toe top-full
of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood;
Stop up the access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
The effect and it. Come to my woman's breasts
And take my milk for gall, you murdering ministers,
Whereever, in your sightless substances.

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