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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Was pitied of Macbeth:--marry, he was dead:-- Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it! I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, And make me die the thrall of Margaret's curse, The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead.-- And only in that safety died her brothers. They smile at me who shortly shall be dead. Being a thing immortal as itself? - And look on death itself! up, up, and see
And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife: Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother's death By thee was punched full of deadly holes: Whose sale is present death in Mantua, And Tybalt's dead, that would have slain my husband: