Here lies your brother, No better than the earth he lies upon, If he were that which now he’s like, that’s dead: Whom I, with this obedient steel,—three inches of it,— Can lay to bed for ever; whiles you, doing thus, To the perpetual wink for aye might put This ancient morsel, this Sir Prudence, who Should not upbraid our course.
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He will be upbraided.
Anthony Doerr -- All the Light We Cannot See
She upbraided herself for the sentiment, but could not overcome or lessen it.