Peele, George / Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1594 [Jan 23 (24); poss. written 1590-1592] (Annals) tragedy · Pembroke's Men (?) unassigned nearest T55 Fairies, fairy queens and enchanted desi · 504 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T55: fairy, fairies, oberon, mopsus, queen, land, grace, babylon, mab, thestylis.
Whom have we here? Rome's Royal Empress, Unfurnished of our well beseeming troop? Or is it Diana habited like her, Who hath abandoned her holy Groves, To see the general Hunting in this Forest? Saucy controller of our private steps: Had I the power, that some say Diana had, Thy Temples should be planted presently. With Horns, as was Actaeon's, and the Hounds Should drive upon his new transformed limbs, Unmannerly Intruder as thou art. Under your patience gentle Empress, 'Tis thought you have a goodly gift in Horning, And to be doubted, that your Moor and you Are singled forth to try experiments: Ioue shield your husband from his Hounds to day, 'Tis pity they should take him for a Stag. Believe me Queen, your swarth Cymerion, Doth make your Honour of his body's Hue, Spotted, detested, and abominable. Why are you sequestered from all your train? Dismounted from your Snowwhite goodly Steed, And wandered hither to an obscure plot, Accompanied with a barbarous Moor, If foul desire had not conducted you? And being intercepted in your sport, Great reason that my Noble Lord, be rated For Sauciness, I pray you let us hence, And let her joy her Raven coloured love, This valley fits the purpose passing well. The King my Brother shall have notice of this. I, for these slips have made him noted long, Good King, to be so mightily abused. Why I have patience to endure all this? How now dear Sovereign And our gracious Mother, Why doth your Highness look so pale and wan? Have I not reason think you to look pale. These two have ticed me hither to this place, A barren, detested vale you see it is. The Trees though Summer, yet forlorn and lean, O'ercome with Moss, and baleful Misselto. here never shines the Sun, here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly Owl, or fatal Raven: And when they showed me this abhorred pit, They told me here at dead time of the night, A thousand Fiends, a thousand hissing Snakes, Ten thousand swelling Toads, as many Urchins, Would make such fearful and confused cries, As any mortal body hearing it, Should strait fall mad, or else die suddenly. No sooner had they told this hellish tale, But straight they told me they would bind me here, Unto the body of a dismal yew, And leave me to this miserable death. And then they called me foul Adulteress, Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms That ever ear did hear to such effect. And had you not by wondrous fortune come, This vengeance on me had they executed: Revenge it, as you love your Mother's life, Or be ye not henceforth called my Children, This is a witness that I am thy Son. And this for me, Struck home to show my strength. I come Semeramis nay Barbarous Tamora. For no name fits thy nature but thy own. Give me thy poniard, you shall know my boys Your Mother's hand shall right your Mother's wrong.
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)
Whom haue we heere? Romes Royall Empreſſe, Vnfurniſht of our well beſeeming troope? Or is it Dian habited like her, Who hath abandoned her holy Groues, To ſee the generall Hunting in this Forreſt? Sawcie controuler of our priuate ſteps: Had I the power, that ſome ſay Dian had, Thy Temples ſhould be planted preſently. With Hornes, as was Acteons, and the Hounds Should driue vpon his new transformed limbes, Vnmannerly Intruder as thou art. Vnder your patience gentle Empreſſe, 'Tis thought you haue a goodly gift in Horning, And to be doubted, that your Moore and you Are ſingled forth to try experiments: Ioue ſheild your husband from his Hounds to day, 'Tis pitty they ſhould take him for a Stag. Beleeue me Queene, your ſwarth Cymerion, Doth make your Honour of his bodies Hue, Spotted, deteſted, and abhominable. Why are you ſequeſtred from all your traine? Diſmounted from your Snow-white goodly Steed, And wandred hither to an obſcure plot, Accompanied with a barbarous Moore, If foule deſire had not conducted you? And being intercepted in your ſport, Great reaſon that my Noble Lord, be rated For Saucineſſe, I pray you let vs hence, And let her ioy her Rauen coloured loue, This valley fits the purpoſe paſſing well. The King my Brother ſhall haue notice of this. I, for theſe ſlis haue made him noted long, Good King, to be ſo mightily abuſed. Why I haue patience to endure all this? How now deere Soueraigne And our gracious Mother, Why doth your Highnes looke ſo pale and wan? Haue I not reaſon thinke you to looke pale. Theſe two haue tic'd me hither to this place, A barren, deteſted vale you ſee it is. The Trees though Sommer, yet forlorne and leane, Ore-come with Moſſe, and balefull Miſſelto. Heere neuer ſhines the Sunne, heere nothing breeds, Vnleſſe the nightly Owle, or fatall Rauen: And when they ſhew'd me this abhorred pit, They told me heere at dead time of the night, A thouſand Fiends, a thouſand hiſſing Snakes, Ten thouſand ſwelling Toades, as many Vrchins, Would make ſuch fearefull and confuſed cries, As any mortall body hearing it, Should ſtraite fall mad, or elſe die ſuddenly. No ſooner had they told this helliſh tale, But ſtrait they told me they would binde me heere, Vnto the body of a diſmall yew, And leaue me to this miſerable death. And then they call'd me foule Adultereſſe, Laſciuious Goth, and all the bittereſt teanes That euer eare did heare to ſuch effect. And had you not by wondrous fortune come, This vengeance on me had they executed: Reuenge it, as you loue your Mothers life, Or be ye not henceforth cal'd my Children, This is a witneſſe that I am thy Sonne. And this for me, Strook home to ſhew my ſtrength. I come Semeramis nay Barbarous Tamora. For no name fits thy nature but thy owne. Giue me thy poyniard, you ſhal know my boyes Your Mothers hand ſhall right your Mothers wrong.