Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1592 [c.1590-1604] (Annals) comedy · Pembroke's Men unassigned nearest T11 Siblings, kin and confidants · 480 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
Well mayst thou woe, and happy be thy speed: But be thou armed for some unhappy words. I to the proof, as Mountains are for winds, That shakes not, though they blow perpetually. How now my friend, why dost thou look so pale? For fear I promise you, if I look pale. What, will my daughter prove a good Musician? I think she'll sooner prove a soldier, Iron may hold with her, but never Lutes. Why then thou canst not break her to the Lute? Why no, for she hath broke the Lute to me: I did but tell her she mistook her frets, And bowed her hand to teach her fingering, When (with a most impatient devilish spirit) Frets call you these? (quoth she) I'll fume with them: And with that word she struck me on the head, And through the instrument my pate made way, And there I stood amazed for a while, As on a Pillory, looking through the Lute, While she did call me Rascal, Fidler, And twangling lack, with twenty such vild terms, As had she studied to misuse me so. Now by the world, it is a lusty Wench, I love her ten times more than ere I did, Oh how I long to have some chat with her. Well go with me, and be not so discomfited. Proceed in practice with my younger daughter, She's apt to learn, and thankful for good turns: Signior Petruchio, will you go with us, Or shall I send my daughter Kate to you. I pray you do. I'll attend her here, And woe her with some spirit when she comes, Say that she rail, why then I'll tell her plain, She sings as sweetly as a Nightinghale: Say that she frown, I'll say she looks as clear As morning Roses newly washed with dew: Say she be mute, and will not speak a word, Then I'll commend her volubility, And say she utcereth piercing eloquence: If she do bid me pack, I'll give her thankes, As though she bid me stay by her a week: If she deny to wed, I'll crave the day When I shall ask the banes, and when be married. But here she comes, and now Petruchio speak. Good morrow Kate, for that's your name I hear. Well have you heard, but something hard of hearing: They call me Katerine, that do talk of me. You lie infaith, for you are called plain Kate, And bony Kate, and sometimes Kate the cursed: But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate-hall, my super-daintie Kate, For dainties are all Kates, and therefore Kate Take this of me, Kate of my consolation, Hearing thy mildness praised in every Town, Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded, Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs, Myself am moved to woe thee for my wife.
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)
Well maiſt thou woo, and happy be thy ſpeed: But be thou arm'd for ſome vnhappie words. I to the proofe, as Mountaines are for windes, That ſhakes not, though they blow perpetually. How now my friend, why doſt thou looke ſo pale? For feare I promiſe you, if I looke pale. What, will my daughter proue a good Muſitian? I thinke ſhe'l ſooner proue a ſouldier, Iron may hold with her, but neuer Lutes. Why then thou canſt not break her to the Lute? Why no, for ſhe hath broke the Lute to me: I did but tell her ſhe miſtooke her frets, And bow'd her hand to teach her fingering, When (with a moſt impatient diuelliſh ſpirit) Frets call you theſe? (quoth ſhe) Ile fume with them: And with that word ſhe ſtroke me on the head, And through the inſtrument my pate made way, And there I ſtood amazed for a while, As on a Pillorie, looking through the Lute, While ſhe did call me Raſcall, Fidler, And twangling lacke, with twentie ſuch vilde tearmes, As had ſhe ſtudied to miſvſe me ſo. Now by the world, it is a luſtie Wench, I loue her ten times more then ere I did, Oh how I long to haue ſome chat with her. Wel go with me, and be not ſo diſcomfited. Proceed in practiſe with my yonger daughter, She's apt to learne, and thankefull for good turnes: Signior Petruchio, will you go with vs, Or ſhall I ſend my daughter Kate to you. I pray you do. Ile attend her heere, And woo her with ſome ſpirit when ſhe comes, Say that ſhe raile, why then Ile tell her plaine, She ſings as ſweetly as a Nightinghale: Say that ſhe frowne, Ile ſay ſhe lookes as cleere As morning Roſes newly waſht with dew: Say ſhe be mute, and will not ſpeake a word, Then Ile commend her volubility, And ſay ſhe vtcereth piercing eloquence: If ſhe do bid me packe, Ile giue her thankes, As though ſhe bid me ſtay by her a weeke: If ſhe denie to wed, Ile craue the day When I ſhall aske the banes, and when be married. But heere ſhe comes, and now Petruchio ſpeake. Good morrow Kate, for thats your name I heare. Well haue you heard, but ſomething hard of hearing: They call me Katerine, that do talke of me. You lye infaith, for you are call'd plaine Kate, And bony Kate, and ſometimes Kate the curſt: But Kate, the prettieſt Kate in Chriſtendome, Kate of Kate-hall, my ſuper-daintie Kate, For dainties are all Kates, and therefore Kate Take this of me, Kate of my conſolation, Hearing thy mildneſſe prais'd in euery Towne, Thy vertues ſpoke of, and thy beautie ſounded, Yet not ſo deepely as to thee belongs, My ſelfe am moou'd to woo thee for my wife.