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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My father's brother; but no more like my father Was never mother had so dear a loss! To kill their gracious father? damned fact! Her brother is in secret come from France; Wept like two children in their deaths' sad story. Are made already mothers: by my count Father, what news? what is the prince's doom But that thy brothers beat aside the point. Madam, good night: commend me to your daughter. 'Tis more, 'tis more: his son is elder, sir; Next, your son gone; and he most violent author | She speaks much of her father; says she hears |
Good night, mother. I am his brother, and I love him well. Your mother. Tell me, how fares our loving mother? - Before my daughter told me,-- what might you,
Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell, So fast they follow:--your sister's drown'd, Laertes. She speaks much of her father; says she hears In my voluptuousness: your wives, your daughters, Ah for our father, for our dear Lord Clarence! Lest, being seen, thy brother, tender George,