Electric Shakespeare
Confusing, amusing, genius!
Till destruction sicken; answer me to that: and Poins
be not of that feather to shake my fell of hair would
at a word, madam; indeed, I must be gone. Faith, mistress,
then I lie in my throat. These deeds must win your love
to her at your window, to be well thank'd, whate'er
falls more.
created by scott camac martin