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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This quarry cries on havoc.--O proud death, They cry 'Choose we! Laertes shall be king!' Swits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I'll cry a match. Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; Yet let me weep for such a feeling loss. O, she says nothing, sir, but weeps and weeps; Poor soul, thy face is much abus'd with tears. Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, I cannot choose but ever weep the friend. To cry, "Hold, hold!" With open outcry, toward our monument. Nor tears nor prayers shall purchase out abuses, Edward and York. Then haply will she weep: We cannot without circumstance descry. Cries cuckold to my father; brands the harlot And twenty times made pause, to sob and weep, Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, It weeps, it bleeds; and each new day a gash And make poor England weep in streams of blood!