Oyonale - Créations 3D et expériences graphiques
ShakeSpam
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choose but weep, to think they would lay him i' the cold ground. With barefac'd power sweep him from my sight, Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, They bear the mandate; they must sweep my way Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears? Thy tears are womanish; thy wild acts denote Ah, who shall hinder me to wail and weep, Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse, I do beweep to many simple gulls; To think it should leave crying, and say 'Ay:' That he should weep for her? What would he do, Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses, That I have? He would drown the stage with tears O heat, dry up my brains! tears seven times salt, Swits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I'll cry a match. She for an Edward weeps, and so do I: F&cking awesome! What, wilt thou wash him from his grave with tears?