Shakespeare, William · published 1597 · first performed or written 1595 (Annals) tragedy; history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T52 Prodigals, portions and poor kin typicality 0.77 · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T52: brother, father, uncle, cousin, son, poor, bread, old, given, master.
Cousin farewell, and Uncle, bid him so, Six years we banish him and he shall go. Cousin far well, what presence must not know, From where you do remain let paper show. My Lord, no leave take I, for I will ride As far as land will let me by your side. Oh to what purpose dost thou hoard thy words, That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends? I have too few to take my leave of you, When the tongues office should be prodigal. To breath the abundant dolour of the heart. Thy grief is but thy absence for a time. joy absent, grief is present for that time. What is six winters? they are quickly gone. To men in joy, but grief makes one hour ten. Call it a travail that thou tak'st for pleasure. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so. Which finds it an enforced pilgrimage. The sullen passage of thy weary steps, Esteem as foil wherein thou art to set, The precious jewel of thy home return. Nay rather every tedious stride I make, Will but remember me what a deal of world: I wander from the jewels that I love. Must I not serve a long apprentishood, To foreign passages, and in the end, Having my freedom, boast of nothing else, But that I was a journeyman to grief. All places that the eye of heaven visits, Are to a wiseman ports and happy havens: Teach thy necessity to reason thus, There is no virtue like necessity, Think not the King did banish thee, But thou the King. Woe doth the heavier sit, Where it perceives it is but faintly borne: Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour, And not the King exiled thee; or suppose, devouring pestilence hangs in our air, And thou art flying to a fresher clime: Look what thy soul holds dear, imagine it To lie that way thou goest, not whence thou comest: Suppose the singing birds musicians, The grass whereon thou treadest, the presence strewed, The flowers, fair Ladies, and thy steps, no more Than a delightful measure or a dance, For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite, The man that mocks at it, and sets it light. Oh who can hold a fire in his hand, By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow, By thinking on fantastic summers heat? Oh no, the apprehension of the good. Gives but the greater feeling to the worse: Fell sorrows tooth doth never rankle more, Then when he bites, but lanceth not the soar. Come come my son Ile bring thee on thy way, Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. Then England's ground far well, sweet soil adieu. My mother and my nurse that bears me yet, Where care I wander boast of this I can, Though banished, yet a true borne English man.
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)
Coosen farewel, and Vnckle, bid him so, Sixe yeares we banish him and he shall go. Cosin fare wel, what presence must not know, From where you doe remaine let paper shew. My Lord, no leaue take I, for I will ride As farre as land will let me by your side. Oh to what purpose doest thou hoard thy words, That thou returnest no greeting to thy friends? I haue too few to take my leaue of you, When the tongues office should be prodigall. To breathe the aboundant dolor of the heart. Thy griefe is but thy absence for a time. Ioy absent, griefe is present for that time. What is sixe winters? they are quickly gone. To men in ioy, but griefe makes one hower ten. Call it a trauaile that thou takst for pleasure. My heart will sigh when I miscall it so. Which findes it an infoced pilgrimage. The sullen passage of thy weary steps, Esteeme as foyle wherein thou art to set, The pretious Iewell of thy home returne. Nay rather euery tedious stride I make, Will but remember me what a deale of world: I wander from the Iewels that I loue. Must I not seue a long apprentishood, To forreine passages, and in the end, Hauing my freedome, boast of nothing else, But hat I was a iourneyman to griefe. All places that the ee of heauen visits, Are to a wiseman portes and happie hauens: Teach thy necessity to reason thus, There is no vertue like necessity, Thinke not the King did banish thee, But thou the King. Woe doth the heauier sit, Where it perceiues it is but faintly borne: Go, say I sent thee foorth to purchase honour, And not the King exilde thee; or suppose, Deuuring pestilence hangs in our aire, And thou at flying to a fresher clime: Looke what thy soule holds deare, imagine it To ly that way thou goest, not whence thou comst: Suppose the singing birds musitions, The grasse whereon thou treadst, the presence strowd, The flowers, faire Ladies, and thy steps, no more Then a delightfull measure or a dance, For gnarling sorrow hath lesse power to bite, The man that mocks at it, and sets it light. Oh who can hold a fier in his hand, By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite, By bare imagination of a feast? Or wallow naked in December snow, By thinking on fantasticke sommers heate? Oh no, the apprehension of the good. Giues but the greater feeling to the worse: Fell sorrowes tooth doth neuer anckle more, Then when he bites, but launceth not the soare. Come come my sonne lie bring thee on thy way, Had I thy youth and cause, I would not stay. Then Englands ground fare well, sweet soile adiew. My mother and my nurse that beares me yet, Where care I wander boast of this I can, Though banisht, yet a true borne English man.