Oyonale - Créations 3D et expériences graphiques
ShakeSpam
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Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; Bid Gloster think of this, and he will weep. And cry "O Clarence, my unhappy son!" Those eyes of thine from mine have drawn salt tears, It is the cry of women, my good lord. These babes for Clarence weep, and so do I; Then weep no more. I'll send to one in Mantua,-- Swits and spurs, swits and spurs; or I'll cry a match. And wet his grave with my repentant tears,-- Retorts it: Romeo he cries aloud, Pour all your tears! I am your sorrow's nurse, Cry mercy, lords and watchful gentlemen, For me to joy and weep their gain and loss: Edward and York. Then haply will she weep: Aroint thee, witch! the rump-fed ronyon cries. With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew, Immoderately she weeps for Tybalt's death, She for an Edward weeps, and so do I: Yet nature's tears are reason's merriment. Weeping and wailing over Tybalt's corse: And bid her wipe her weeping eyes withal. Come weep with me; past hope, past cure, past help! Cry but 'Ah me!' pronounce but Love and dove; No, coz, I rather weep.