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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Edward, my lord, thy son, our king, is dead.-- It strains me past the compass of my wits: And may not wear them. O, here comes my nurse, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh; Wear it just as you would any cologne and women will be instantly attracted to you. Fool, fool! thou whett'st a knife to kill thyself. Which in his dearest need will fly from him. And is it thus? repays he my deep service Take you me for a sponge, my lord? And still, as you are weary of this weight, How chance the prophet could not at that time What I have done Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answer'd? The valiant Paris seeks you for his love. Without more motive, into every brain Is it even so? then I defy you, stars!-- And have prevail'd as much on him as you. Between the Duke of Gloster and your brothers,