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Romeo and Juliet, where the, to induce her lover to stay, cries,

Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day :
It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings on yon pomgranate tree :

Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. But after a moment's reflection, se corrects herself, and replies,

It is, it is, hie hence, begone, away; It is the lark that sings so out of tune, Straining harsh discords, and unpleasing sharps. That figure which seems to deny what it advances, and in appearance contradicts itself, is, when properly applied, extremely elegant.

Cowards die many times before their deaths ;
The valiant never taste of death but once. SHAKE.

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