I am their mother. Who shall bar me from them? (Act IV, Scene i, line 21)
Stay, yet look back with me unto the Tower.— Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes Whom envy hath immured within your walls— Rough cradle for such little pretty ones. Rude ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow For tender princes, use my babies well. (Act IV, Scene i, lines 100–105)
I must be married to my brother’s daughter, Or else my kingdom stands on brittle glass. Murder her brothers, and then marry her— Uncertain way of gain. But I am in So far in blood that sin will pluck on sin. Tear-falling pity dwells not in this eye. (Act IV, Scene ii, lines 62–67)
And is it thus? Repays he my deep service With such deep contempt? Made I him king for this? (Act IV, Scene ii, lines 122–123)
The son of Clarence have I pent up close, His daughter meanly have I matched in marriage, The sons of Edward sleep in Abraham’s bosom, And Anne my wife hath bid this world goodnight. (Act IV, Scene iii, lines 36–39)
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