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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| Thy Edward he is dead, that kill'd my Edward; |
Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill. He sends you not to murder me for this; But look'd not on the poison of their hearts: Go, hie thee, hie thee from this slaughter-house, Macbeth does murder sleep,"--the innocent sleep; What though I kill'd her husband and her father? Could draw to part them was stout Tybalt slain; There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried, "Murder!" The son, compell'd, been butcher to the sire: Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did slay; And shamefully my hopes by you are butcher'd. We must with all our majesty and skill This murderous shaft that's shot That didst unworthy slaughter upon others. To-day at Pomfret bloodily were butcher'd, To be reveng'd on him that kill'd my husband. To kill their gracious father? damned fact! And the rank poison of the old will die.