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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Your lady mother is coming to your chamber: Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life. Your brother's son shall never reign our king; Your children's children quit it in your age. A care-craz'd mother to a many sons, On the fair daughter of rich Capulet: Was not incensed by his subtle mother Where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. (And betimes I will) to the weird sisters: His son was but a ward two years ago. I saw her laid low in her kindred's vault, And in the breath of bitter words let's smother Would quake to look on. Soft! now to my mother.-- But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, The earth, that's nature's mother, is her tomb; His master's child, as worshipfully he terms it, - Untimely smother'd in their dusky graves.
Our brother is imprison'd by your means, Being the right idea of your father, No son of mine succeeding. If't be so,