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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That never dreamt on aught but butcheries: Come, cordial and not poison, go with me Despis'd, distressed, hated, martyr'd, kill'd!-- not to kill the duke. This hand, which for thy love did kill thy love; My grandam told me he was murder'd there. For, hark you, Tybalt being slain so late, As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him. That is because the traitor murderer lives. Our royal master's murder'd! In the poison'd entrails throw.-- My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,