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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And in their triumph die; like fire and powder, - O momentary grace of mortal men,
Who knows not he is dead! Who knows he is? As loath to lose him, not your father's death; And fearfully did menace me with death And cruel death hath catch'd it from my sight! And she, there dead, that Romeo's faithful wife: Will tempt unto a close exploit of death? Which by his death hath lost much majesty. And I, of ladies most deject and wretched No sleep close up that deadly eye of thine, And there die strangled ere my Romeo comes? If all else fail, myself have power to die. Let me but meet you, ladies, one hour hence, Would create soldiers, make our women fight, Turn thee Benvolio, look upon thy death. The least a death to nature. Died every day she lived. Fare-thee-well! Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? Poor heart, adieu! I pity thy complaining. Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die, An you be not, hang, beg, starve, die i' the streets, In that word's death; no words can that woe sound.-- In the dead vast and middle of the night,