Shakespeare, William / Fletcher, John · published 1634 · first performed or written 1613 [1613-1614] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T46 Swords, quarrels and valour · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T46: rapier, sword, fight, gentlemen, gentleman, kicked, kill, dagger, signor, valour.
Yes but all Was vainly laboured in me, you outwent me, Nor could my wishes reach you; yet a little I did by imitation. More by virtue, You are modest Cosen. When I saw you charge first, Me thought I heard a dreadful clap of Thunder Break from the Troop. But still before that flew The lightning of your valour: Stay a little, Is not this piece too straight? No, no, 'tis well. I would have nothing hurt thee but my Sword, A bruise would be dishonour. Now I am perfect. Stand off then. Take my Sword, I hold it better. I thank ye: No, keep it, your life lies on it, Here's one, if it but hold, I ask no more, For all my hopes: My Cause and honour guard me. And me my love: * Is there ought else to say? This only, and no more: Thou art mine Aunts Son. And that blood we desire to shed is mutual, In me, thine, and in thee, mine: My Sword Is in my hand, and if thou killst me The gods, and I forgive thee; If there be A place prepared for those that sleep in honour, I wish his weary soul, that falls may win it: Fight bravely cousin, give me thy noble hand. Here Palamon: This hand shall never more Come near thee with such friendship. I commend thee. If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward, For none but such, dare die in these just Trials. Once more farewell my Cosen, Farewell Arcite. Lo Cosen, lo, our Folly has undone us. Why? This is the Duke, a hunting as I told you, If we be found, we are wretched, O retire For honour's sake, and safely presently Into your Bush again; Sir we shall find Too many hours to die in, gentle Cosen: If you be seen you perish instantly For breaking prison, and I, if you reveal me, For my contempt; Then all the world will scorn us, And say we had a noble difference, But base disposers of it. No, no, Cosen I will no more be hidden, nor put off This great adventure to a second Trial; I know your cunning, and I know your cause, He that faints now, shame take him, put thyself Upon thy present guard. You are not mad? Or I will make th'advantage of this hour Mine own, and what to come shall threaten me, I fear less than my fortune: know weak Cosen I love Emilia, and in that i'll bury Thee, and all crosses else. Then come, what can come Thou shalt know Palamon, I dare as well Die, as discourse, or sleep: Only this fears me, The law will have the honour of our ends. Have at thy life. Look to thine own well Arcite. What ignorant and mad malicious Traitors, Are you? That 'gainst the tenor of my Laws Are making Battle, thus like Knights appointed, Without my leave, and Officers of Arms? By Castor both shall die.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Yes but all Was vainely labour'd in me, you outwent me, Nor could my wishes reach you; yet a little I did by imitation. More by vertue, You are modest Cosen. When I saw you charge first, Me thought I heard a dreadfull clap of Thunder Breake from the Troope. But still before that flew The lightning of your valour: Stay a little, Is not this peece too ? No, no, tis well. I would have nothing hurt thee but my Sword, A bruise would be dishonour. Now I am perfect. Stand off then. Take my Sword, I hold it better. I thanke ye: No, keepe it, your life lyes on it, Here's one, if it but hold, I aske no more, For all my hopes: My Cause and honour guard me. And me my love: * Is there ought else to say? This onely, and no more: Thou art mine Aunts Son. And that blood we desire to shed is mutuall, In me, thine, and in thee, mine: My Sword Is in my hand, and if thou killst me The gods, and I forgive thee; If there be A place prepar'd for those that sleepe in honour, I wish his wearie soule, that falls may win it: Fight bravely Cos, give me thy noble hand. Here Palamon: This hand shall never more Come neare thee with such friendship. I commend thee. If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward, For none but such, dare die in these just Tryalls. Once more farewell my Cosen, Farewell Arcite. Loe Cosen, loe, our Folly has undon us. Why? This is the Duke, a hunting as I told you, If we be found, we are wretched, O retire For honours sake, and safely presently Into your Bush agen; Sir we shall finde Too many howres to dye in, gentle Cosen: If you be seene you perish instantly For breaking prison, and I, if you reveale me, For my contempt; Then all the world will scorne us, And say we had a noble difference, But base disposers of it. No, no, Cosen I will no more be hidden, nor put off This great adventure to a second Tryall I know your cunning, and I know your cause, He that faints now, shame take him, put thy selfe Vpon thy present guard. You are not mad? Or I will make th'advantage of this howre Mine owne, and what to come shall threaten me, I feare lesse then my fortune: know weake Cosen I love Emilia, and in that ile bury Thee, and all crosses else. Then come, what can come Thou shalt know Palamon, I dare as well Die, as discourse, or sleepe: Onely this feares me, The law will have the honour of our ends. Have at thy ife. Looke to thine owne well Arcite. What ignorant and mad malicious Traitors, Are you? That gainst the tenor of my Lawes Are making Battaile, thus like Knights appointed, Without my leave, and Officers of Armes? By Castor both shall dye.