Oyonale - Créations 3D et expériences graphiques
ShakeSpam
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But death hath snatch'd my husband from mine arms, O son, the night before thy wedding day That may be, sir, when I may be a wife. His father's death and our o'erhasty marriage. Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter'd son, False to his children and his wife's allies; My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she My Lady Grey his wife, Clarence, 'tis she Here is your husband, like a milldew'd ear With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage, Well, think of marriage now: younger than you, I have bewept a worthy husband's death, In mincing with his sword her husband's limbs, My mother: father and mother is man and wife; man and wife is Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast; Soft! take me with you, take me with you, wife. Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow, And this is Edward's wife, that monstrous witch, A second time I kill my husband dead How does my wife?