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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I mean that with my soul I love thy daughter, And, I warrant, a virtuous,--Where is your mother? Ah, aunt, you wept not for our father's death! The children live whose fathers thou hast slaughter'd, But in battalions! First, her father slain: Are made already mothers: by my count Was not incensed by his subtle mother | Your children's children quit it in your age. |
Ay brother,--to our grief, as it is yours: Again shall you be mother to a king, Daughter, well met. Kind sister, thanks; we'll enter all together:-- Brother, good day: what means this armed guard He that hath kill'd my king, and whor'd my mother; Conceit upon her father. Which stretch'd unto their servants, daughters, wives, Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, If ever he have child, abortive be it, - Were it to call King Edward's widow sister,--
Make war upon themselves; brother to brother, Sirrah, your father's dead; Sham'd their aspects with store of childish drops: