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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Dead life, blind sight, poor mortal living ghost, These happy masks that kiss fair ladies' brows, To give obedience where 'tis truly ow'd: Death, that hath ta'en her hence to make me wail, He cannot live, I hope; and must not die This, in obedience, hath my daughter show'd me; 'Tis meet that some more audience than a mother, That cop'st with death himself to scape from it; All mortal consequences have pronounc'd me thus,-- In the dead vast and middle of the night, I fear no uncles dead. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch! And for his death no wind shall breathe; Long die thy happy days before thy death; Death lies on her like an untimely frost Mine and my father's death come not upon thee, Are counsellors to fear. What soldiers, whey-face? Think on the Tower and me: despair, and die,-- Why then, God's soldier be he! Inter their bodies as becomes their births: Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper;
Adieu, poor soul, that tak'st thy leave of it!