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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- And there the little souls of Edward's children
So from thy soul's love didst thou love her brothers; My father, in his habit as he liv'd! Your royal father's murder'd. Infer the bastardy of Edward's children: Dead art thou, dead!--alack, my child is dead; I, by attorney, bless thee from thy mother, Dream on thy cousins smothered in the Tower: Next, your son gone; and he most violent author Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers? Which are the children of an idle brain, Say, Voltimand, what from our brother Norway? More than my brother. "Ay," quoth my uncle Gloster Now, mother, what's the matter? Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death. Dead art thou, dead!--alack, my child is dead;