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 my true mother. Her mother is the lady of the house. Which are the children of an idle brain, Come,sisters, cheer we up his sprites, But yet to me they are strong. The queen his mother The purple sap from her sweet brothers' bodies, Madam, your mother craves a word with you. Most throughly for my father. And with my child my joys are buried! Mother, you have my father much offended. Alas, I am the mother of these griefs! 'Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, sir; You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death. No, good mother, here's metal more attractive. That God had lent us but this only child; Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, My father's spirit in arms! All is not well;