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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[Aside.] It is the poison'd cup; it is too late. Poison hath residence, and medicine power: From the murderer's gibbet throw A grave? O, no, a lanthorn, slaught'red youth, His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs Never to rise again: thy mother's poison'd: Had not been broken, nor my brother slain: Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kill'd him; And smil'st upon the stroke that murders me. Which his hell-govern'd arm hath butchered! Either, heaven, with lightning strike the murderer dead; Of this most grievous murder! To murder, murder our solemnity?-- For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak To draw apart the body he hath kill'd: That you will war with God by murdering me?-- Hast thou slain Tybalt? wilt thou slay thyself? What if it be a poison, which the friar - Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it.
A brother's murder!--Pray can I not, If I have kill'd the issue of your womb,