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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Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, Madam, my mother, I do cry you mercy; And by that loss your daughter is made queen. The purple sap from her sweet brothers' bodies, Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? You say that Edward is your brother's son: He is all the mother's, from the top to toe. To our most valiant brother. So much for him,-- There wanteth now our brother Gloster here, Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? I will be brief:--your noble son is mad: I will confess she was not Edward's daughter. And that the queen's kindred are made gentlefolks: Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn