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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There is thy gold; worse poison to men's souls, Then say they were not slain: Transports his poison'd shot,--may miss our name, - A grave? O, no, a lanthorn, slaught'red youth,
And in this brainish apprehension, kills
Then say they were not slain: An if a man did need a poison now, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. My grandam told me he was murder'd there. Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay; To do this piece of ruthless butchery, That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love!