Oyonale - 3D art and graphic experiments
ShakeSpam
Click on the verses to see them in context. Shakespeare's plays are available from the Gutenberg Projet.
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Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse,
Do ebb and flow with tears; the bark thy body is, Back, foolish tears, back to your native spring; Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary Ah, who shall hinder me to wail and weep, What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? | And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, |
With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, That he should weep for her? What would he do, Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,-- I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. And Tybalt calls; and then on Romeo cries, Thou wrong'st it more than tears with that report. Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears. I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. Swits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I'll cry a match. They shall be praying nuns, not weeping queens; Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse, Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,