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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Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George, And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd him: Next, your son gone; and he most violent author Have I a tongue to doom my brother's death, What were I best to say? her father's brother The purple sap from her sweet brothers' bodies, To our most valiant brother. So much for him,-- To wail the title, as her mother doth. Requite him for your father. Not to his father's; I spoke with his man. His daughter meanly have I match'd in marriage; Wept like two children in their deaths' sad story. But by his mother was perforce withheld. Nor you, son Dorset;--Buckingham, nor you;-- Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, As it behooves my daughter and your honour. Wife, children, servants, all Your mother lives a witness to his vow,-- A brother's murder!--Pray can I not, Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? were a good sign that I should quickly have a new father. He that hath kill'd my king, and whor'd my mother;