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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- If you will live, lament; if die, be brief,
And die ere men can say God save the queen! Will tempt unto a close exploit of death? Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward; For the ingredients of our caldron. A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, Was Tybalt's doomsday, whose untimely death Thou lily-liver'd boy. What soldiers, patch? And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight! Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead.-- Died every day she lived. Fare-thee-well! O deadly sin! O rude unthankfulness! 'Tis a vile thing to die, my gracious lord, Strange images of death. As thick as hail These dead men's tombs. Love, charity, obedience, and true duty! Death makes no conquest of this conqueror; Take up the bodies.--Such a sight as this To catch my death with jauncing up and down! That princely novice, was struck dead by thee? The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath, And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. I must be gone and live, or stay and die.