Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1592] (Annals) tragedy; history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 512 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
And leave out thee? stay Dog, for thou shalt hear me. If Heaven have any grievous plague in store, Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee, O let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe, And then hurl down their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poor World's peace. The Worm of Conscience still begnaw thy Soul, Thy Friends suspect for Traitors while thou liv'st, And take deep Traitors for thy dearest Friends: No sleep close up that deadly Eye of thine, Unless it be while some tormenting Dream Affrights thee with a Hell of ugly Devils. Thou elvish marked, abortive rooting Hog, Thou that wast sealed in thy Nativity The slave of Nature, and the Son of Hell: Thou slander of thy heavy Mother's Womb, Thou loathed Issue of thy Father's Loins, Thou Rag of Honour, thou detested— Margaret. Richard. Ha. I call thee not. I cry thee mercy then: for I did think, That thou hadst called me all these bitter names. Why so I did, but looked for no reply. Oh let me make the Period to my Curse. 'Tis done by me, and ends in Margaret. Thus have you breathed your Curse against yourself. Poor painted Queen, vain flourish of my fortune, Why strewest thou Sugar on that Botteled Spider, Whose deadly Web ensnareth thee about? Fool, fool, thou whettest a Knife to kill thyself: The day will come, that thou shalt wish for me, To help thee curse this poisonous Bunch-backed Toad. False boding Woman, end thy frantic Curse, Lest to thy harm, thou move our patience. Fowl shame upon you, you have all moved mine. Were you well served, you would be taught your duty. To serve me well, you all should do me duty, Teach me to be your Queen, and you my Subjects: O serve me well, and teach yourselves that duty. Dispute not with her, she is lunatic. Peace Master marquis, you are malapert, Your firenew stamp of Honour is scarce currant. O that your young Nobility could judge What 'twere to lose it, and be miserable. They that stand high, have many blasts to shake them, And if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. Good counsel marry, learn it, learn it marquis. It touches you my Lord, as much as me. I, and much more: but I, was borne so high: Our airy buildeth in the Cedar's top, And dallies with the wind, and scorns the Sun. And turns the Sun to shade: alas, alas, Witness my Son, now in the shade of death, Whose bright outshining beams, thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternal darkness folded up. Your eyrie buildeth in our ayeries Nest: O God that seest it, do not suffer it, As it is won with blood, lost be it so. Peace, peace for shame: If not, for Charity. Urge neither charity, nor shame to me: Uncharitably with me have you dealt, And shamefully my hopes (by you) are butchered. My Charity is outrage, Life my shame, And in that shame, still live my sorrow's rage.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T30 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
And leaue out thee? ſtay Dog, for yu ſhalt heare me. If Heauen haue any grieuous plague in ſtore, Exceeding thoſe that I can wiſh vpon thee, O let them keepe it, till thy ſinnes be ripe, And then hurle downe their indignation On thee, the troubler of the poore Worlds peace. The Worme of Conſcience ſtill begnaw thy Soule, Thy Friends ſuſpect for Traytors while thou liu'ſt, And take deepe Traytors for thy deareſt Friends: No ſleepe cloſe vp that deadly Eye of thine, Vnleſſe it be while ſome tormenting Dreame Affrights thee with a Hell of ougly Deuills. Thou eluiſh mark'd, abortiue rooting Hogge, Thou that waſt ſeal'd in thy Natiuitie The ſlaue of Nature, and the Sonne of Hell: Thou ſlander of thy heauie Mothers Wombe, Thou loathed Iſſue of thy Fathers Loynes, Thou Ragge of Honor, thou deteſted— Margaret. Richard. Ha. I call thee not. I cry thee mercie then: for I did thinke, That thou hadſt call'd me all theſe bitter names. Why ſo I did, but look'd for no reply. Oh let me make the Period to my Curſe. 'Tis done by me, and ends in Margaret. Thus haue you breath'd your Curſe againſt your ſelf. Poore painted Queen, vain flouriſh of my fortune, Why ſtrew'ſt thou Sugar on that Bottel'd Spider, Whoſe deadly Web enſnareth thee about? Foole, foole, thou whet'ſt a Knife to kill thy ſelfe: The day will come, that thou ſhalt wiſh for me, To helpe thee curſe this poyſonous Bunch-backt Toade. Falſe boding Woman, end thy frantick Curſe, Leaſt to thy harme, thou moue our patience. Foule ſhame vpon you, you haue all mou'd mine. Were you wel ſeru'd, you would be taught your duty. To ſerue me well, you all ſhould do me duty, Teach me to be your Queene, and you my Subiects: O ſerue me well, and teach your ſelues that duty. Diſpute not with her, ſhee is lunaticke. Peace Maſter Marqueſſe, you are malapert, Your fire-new ſtampe of Honor is ſcarce currant. O that your yong Nobility could iudge What 'twere to loſe it, and be miſerable. They that ſtand high, haue many blaſts to ſhake them, And if they fall, they daſh themſelues to peeces. Good counſaile marry, learne it, learne it Marqueſſe. It touches you my Lord, as much as me. I, and much more: but I, was borne ſo high: Our ayerie buildeth in the Cedars top, And dallies with the winde, and ſcornes the Sunne. And turnes the Sun to ſhade: alas, alas, Witneſſe my Sonne, now in the ſhade of death, Whoſe bright out-ſhining beames, thy cloudy wrath Hath in eternall darkneſſe folded vp. Your ayery buildeth in our ayeries Neſt: O God that ſeeſt it, do not ſuffer it, As it is wonne with blood, loſt be it ſo. Peace, peace for ſhame: If not, for Charity. Vrge neither charity, nor ſhame to me: Vncharitably with me haue you dealt, And ſhamefully my hopes (by you) are butcher'd. My Charity is outrage, Life my ſhame, And in that ſhame, ſtill liue my ſorrowes rage.