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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What have you done, my lord, with the dead body? Industrious soldiership. And lead you even to death: meantime forbear, For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god-kissing Who is it that consorts, so late, the dead? Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge Whose sale is present death in Mantua, Make haste; the hour of death is expiate. He should the bearers put to sudden death, Why thy canoniz'd bones, hearsed in death, The law, that threaten'd death, becomes thy friend, Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead! Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death. Of this dead butcher, and his fiend-like queen,-- The day is ours, the bloody dog is dead. Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in the holes Is mortals' chiefest enemy. We should profane the service of the dead Became him like the leaving it; he died And the place death, considering who thou art, Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, As we have warranties: her death was doubtful;