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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Swits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I'll cry a match. Blubbering and weeping, weeping and blubbering.-- To cry, "Hold, hold!" Such hideous cries that, with the very noise, The pretty wretch left crying, and said 'Ay:' Why, let the strucken deer go weep, The liquid drops of tears that you have shed Which you weep for. Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. Weep our sad bosoms empty. And twenty times made pause, to sob and weep, This quarry cries on havoc.--O proud death, Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen, Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help! And cry "O Clarence, my unhappy son!" Swits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I'll cry a match. That reigns in galled eyes of weeping souls,-- How can we aid you with our kindred tears? There on the ground, with his own tears made drunk. Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood. And cry "O Clarence, my unhappy son!" It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash How can we aid you with our kindred tears? Why, let the strucken deer go weep,