Hamlet Cries !



I trade thy soul in grieved rage;
in notes of despair of thy shade !

Flatter her with blood of thy breath, 
madness, your'st thirst dream as grand-sire !

Come hither, she whispers in candles;
no less king, you are with her sore kisses !

Therein, find of those bitter lost glory,
wretches heartbeat of dead temple story !
Miseries plague's thy soul for she is hell,
credulous fool shall bid poison in farewell !

Venus, has escaped this morning sky,
swell'd shrine-
wiving thy death, upon time: she cries ! 

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