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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That the life-weary taker mall fall dead; The purple sap from her sweet brothers' bodies, And turn'd that black word death to banishment: Say, have I thy consent that they shall die? Misconster us in him, and wail his death. Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost, Had you such leisure in the time of death Shot from the deadly level of a gun, And I, of ladies most deject and wretched And fearfully did menace me with death Sometime she driveth o'er a soldier's neck, That shake us nightly: better be with the dead, These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows, Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice: O my accursed womb, the bed of death! O'er-cover'd quite with dead men's rattling bones, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt I will lead forth my soldiers to the plain, Die in his youth by like untimely violence! God will, in justice, ward you as his soldiers; They smile at me who shortly shall be dead. Should be as mortal as an old man's life? And death's pale flag is not advanced there.-- To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd: