Oyonale - Créations 3D et expériences graphiques
ShakeSpam
Cliquer sur les vers pour les voir dans leur contexte. Les pièces de Shakespeare sont disponibles auprès du Projet Gutenberg.
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Murder her brothers, and then marry her! The curse my noble father laid on thee, Better it were they all came by his father, And in the vapour of my glory smother'd. That God had lent us but this only child; Your children's children quit it in your age. Who is't that calls? is it my lady mother? Your royal father's murder'd. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, Hey, I agree with that. The serpent that did sting thy father's life The father rashly slaughter'd his own son, My father is not dead, for all your saying. And from his mother's closet hath he dragg'd him: Or thinking by our late dear brother's death Poor Clarence did forsake his father, Warwick; My lord, he's going to his mother's closet: I thought my mother and my brother York The kindred of the queen, must die at Pomfret. Which but their children's end naught could remove, He is all the mother's, from the top to toe. But one, poor one, one poor and loving child, Farewell, dear mother. Our son shall win. thou do for a father?