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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Fool, fool! thou whett'st a knife to kill thyself. That never dreamt on aught but butcheries: Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end:-- To their vile murders: roasted in wrath and fire,
- The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire:
That heaven finds means to kill your joys with love! Alack the day!--he's gone, he's kill'd, he's dead! To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband. To fight against that bloody homicide. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me Five have I slain to-day instead of him.-- [Aside.] It is the poison'd cup; it is too late. Sovereign, here lies the County Paris slain; Transports his poison'd shot,--may miss our name, Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder!-- If they do see thee, they will murder thee.