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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Come,sisters, cheer we up his sprites, Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!-- Preys on the issue of his mother's body, Or thinking by our late dear brother's death But I hear no; they say my son of York my father died:--they say he made a good end,-- Your children were vexation to your youth;
I was your mother much upon these years - The unity the king thy brother made
The purple sap from her sweet brothers' bodies, He took my father grossly, full of bread; But the queen's kindred, and night-walking heralds To wail the title, as her mother doth. That God had lent us but this only child; You cannot guess who caus'd your father's death. Or he that slew her brothers and her uncles? The queen your mother and your brother York Which we have noted in you to your kindred, O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children!-- | Brother of Gloster, you mistake the matter. |
Nor you, son Dorset;--Buckingham, nor you;--