Shakespeare, William · published 1597 · first performed or written 1596 [1594-1596] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns · 517 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
Then will I give it you, and sound to. What will you give us? The fiddler, I'll re you, I'll fa you, I'll sol you. If you youre us and fa us, we will note you. I will put up my Iron dagger, and beat you with my wooden wit. Come on Simon found Pot, I'll pose you, Let's hear. When gripping grief the heart doth wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppress: Then music with her silver sound, Why silver sound? Why silver sound? I think because music hath a sweet sound. Pretty, what say you Matthew minikines? I think because Musicians sound for silver. Pretty too: come, what say you? I say nothing. I think so, I'll speak for you because you are the Singer. I say Silver sound, because such Fellows as you have seldom Gold for sounding. Farewell Fiddlers, farewell. Farewell and be hanged: come let's go. If I may trust the flattering Eye of Sleep, My Dream presagde some good event to come. My bosom Lord sits cheerful in his throne, And I am comforted with pleasing dreams. Me thought I was this night already dead: (Strange dreams that give a dead man leave to think) And that my Lady Iuliet came to me, And breathed such life with kisses in my lips, That I reviude and was an Emperor. News from Verona. How now Balthasar, How doth my Lady? Is my Father well? How fares my Iuliet? that I ask again: If she be well, than nothing can be ill. Then nothing can be ill, for she is well, Her body sleeps in Capulets Monument, And her immortal parts with Angels dwell. Pardon me Sir▪ that am the Messenger of such bad tidings. Is it even so? then I defy my Stars. Go get me ink and paper, hire post horse, I will not stay in Mantua to night. Pardon me Sir▪ I will not leave you thus, Your looks are dangerous and full of fear: I dare not, nor I will not leave you yet. Do as I bid thee, get me ink and paper, And hire those horse: stay not I say. Well Iuliet, I will lie with thee to night. Let's see for means. As I do remember Here dwells a Pothecary whom oft I noted As I passed by, whose needy shop is stuffed With beggarly accounts of empty boxes: And in the same an Aligarta hangs, Old ends of packthread, and cakes of Roses, Are thinly strewed to make up a show. Him as I noted, thus with myself I thought: And if a man should need a poison now, (Whose present sale is death in Mantua) Here he might buy it. This thought of mine Did but forerun my need: and here about he dwells. Being Holiday the beggars shop is shut. What ho Apothecary, come forth I say. Who calls, what would you sir? Heeres twenty ducats, Give me a dram of some such speeding gear, As will dispatch the weary takers life, As suddenly as powder being fired From forth a Cannon's mouth.
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)
Then will I giue it you, and oundly to. What will you giue vs? The fidler, Ile re you, Ile fa you, Ile sol you. If you re vs and fa vs, we will note you. I will put vp my Iron dagger, and beate you with my wodden wit. Come on Simon found Pot, Ile pose you, Lets heare. When griping griefe the heart doth wound, And dolefull dumps the minde oppresse: Then msique with her siluer sound, Why siluer sound? Why siluer sound? I thinke because musicke hath a sweet sound. Pretie, what say you Mathew minikine? I thinke because Musitions sound for siluer. Prettie too: come, what say you? I say nothing. I thinke so, Ile speake for you because you are the Singer. I saye Siluer sound, because such Fellowes as you haue sildome Golde for sounding. Farewell Fidlers, frewell. Farewell and be hangd: come lets goe. If I may trust the flattering Eye of Sleepe, My Dreame presagde some good euent to come. My bosome Lord sits chearfull in his throne, And I am comforted withpleasing dreames. Me thought I was this night alreadie dead: (Strange dreames that giue a dead man leane to thinke) And that my Ladie Iuliet came to me, And breathd such life with kisses in my lips, That I reuiude and was an Emperour. Newes from Verona. How now Balthasar, How doth my Ladie? Is my Father well? How fares my Iuliet? that I aske againe: If she be well, then nothing can be ill. Then nothing can be ill, for she is well, Her bodie sleepes in Capels Monument, And her immortall parts with Angels dwell. Pardon me Sir▪ that am the Messenger of such bad iding. Is it euen so? then I dee my Starres. Goe get me incke and paper, hyre post horse, I will not sty in Mantua to night. Pardon me Sir▪ I will not leaue you thus, Your lookes are dangerous and full of feare: I dare not, nor I will not leaue you yet. Doo as I bid thee, get me incke and paper, And hyre those horse: stay not I say. Well Iuliet, I will lye with thee to night. Lets see for meanes. As I doo remember Here dwells a Pothecarie whom oft I noted As I past by, whose needie shop is stufft With beggerly accounts of emptie boxes: And in the same an Aligarta hangs, Olde endes of packthred, and cakes of Roses, Are thinly strewed to make vp a show. Him as I noted, thus with my selfe I thought: And if a man should need a poyson now, (Whose present sale is death in Mantua) Here he might buy it. This thought of mine Did but forerunne my need: and here about he dwls. Being Holiday the Beggers shop is shut. What ho Apothecarie, come forth I say. VVho calls, what would you sir? Heeres twentie duckates, Giue me a dram of some such speeding geere, As will dispatch the wearie takers life, As suddenly as powder being fierd From forth a Cannons mouth.