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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Of your dear father's death, is't writ in your revenge Anointed let me be with deadly venom, That Henry's death, my lovely Edward's death, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper; And only in that safety died her brothers. Now old desire doth in his deathbed lie, That I may live to say "The dog is dead." Dies in his own too much: that we would do, Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers Too deep and dead, poor infants, in their graves. And sayest thou yet that exile is not death! Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works,-- To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd: Poor living corse, clos'd in a dead man's tomb! I say, my lord, they have deserved death. That Anne, my queen, is sick and like to die: Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead.-- As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,