Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1596 [1594-1596] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T28 Marriage-making: weddings, brides and ma · 485 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T28: married, marriage, wedding, day, bride, father, wife, luce, love, husband.
I sir: But she will none, she gives you thankes, I would the fool were married to her grave. Soft, take me with you, take me with you wife, How, will she none? doth she not give us thanks? Is she not proud? doth she not count her blessed, Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a Gentleman, to be her Bridegroom Not proud you have, But thankful that you have: Proud can I never be of what I have, But thankful even for hate, that is meant Love.. How now? How now? Chopped Logic? what is this? Proud, and I thank you: and I thank you not. Thank me no thank, nor proud me no prouds, But settle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next, To go with Paris to Saint Peter's Church: Or I will drag thee, on a Hurdle thither. Out you green sickness carrion, out you baggage, You tallow face. Fie, fie, what are you mad? Good Father, I beseech you on my knees Hear me with patience, but to speak a word. Hang thee young baggage, disobedient wretch, I tell thee what, get thee to Church a Thursday, Or never after look me in the face. Speak not, reply not, do not answer me. My finger's itch, wife: we scarce thought us blessed, That God had lent us but this only Child, But now I see this one is one too much, And that we have a curse in having her: Out on her Hilding. God in heaven bless her, You are too blame my Lord to rate her so. And why my Lady wisdom? hold your tongue, Good Prudence, smatter with your gossip, go. I speak no treason, Father, O Godigoden, May not one speak? Peace you mumbling fool, Utter your gravity o'er a Gossip's bowls For here we need it not. You are too hot. God's bread, it makes me mad: Day, night, hour, ride, time, work, play, Alone in company, still my care hath been To have her matched, and having now provided A Gentleman of Noble Parentage, Of fair Demeans, Youthful, and Nobly Allied, Stuffed as they say with Honourable parts, Proportioned as one's thought would wish a man, And then to have a wretched puling fool, A whining mammet, in her Fortune's tender, To answer, I'll not wed, I cannot Love: I am too young, I pray you pardon me. But, and you will not wed, I'll pardon you. Graze where you will, you shall not house with me: Look too't, think on't, I do not use to jest. Thursday is near, lay hand on heart, advice, And you be mine, I'll give you to my Friend: And you be not, hang, beg, strave, die in the streets, For by my soul, I'll ne'er acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine shall never do thee good: Trust too't, bethink you, I'll not be forsworn
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)
I ſir: But ſhe will none, ſhe giues you thankes, I would the foole were married to her graue. Soft, take me with you, take me with you wife, How, will ſhe none? doth ſhe not giue vs thanks? Is ſhe not proud? doth ſhe not count her bleſt, Vnworthy as ſhe is, that we haue wrought So worthy a Gentleman, to be her Bridegroome Not proud you haue, But thankfull that you haue: Proud can I neuer be of what I haue, But thankfull euen for hate, that is meant Loue. How now? How now? Chopt Logicke? what is this? Proud, and I thanke you: and I thanke you not. Thanke me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds, But fettle your fine ioints 'gainſt Thurſday next, To go with Paris to Saint Peters Church: Or I will drag thee, on a Hurdle thither. Out you greene ſickneſſe carrion, out you baggage, You tallow face. Fie, fie, what are you mad? Good Father, I beſeech you on my knees Heare me with patience, but to ſpeake a word. Hang thee young baggage, diſobedient wretch, I tell thee what, get thee to Church a Thurſday, Or neuer after looke me in the face. Speake not, reply not, do not anſwere me. My fingers itch, wife: we ſcarce thought vs bleſt, That God had lent vs but this onely Child, But now I ſee this one is one too much, And that we haue a curſe in hauing her: Out on her Hilding. God in heauen bleſſe her, You are too blame my Lord to rate her ſo. And why my Lady wiſedome? hold your tongue, Good Prudence, ſmatter with your goſſip, go. I ſpeake no treaſon, Father, O Godigoden, May not one ſpeake? Peace you mumbling foole, Vtter your grauitie ore a Goſſips bowles For here we need it not. You are too hot. Gods bread, it makes me mad: Day, night, houre, ride, time, worke, play, Alone in companie, ſtill my care hath bin To haue her matcht, and hauing now prouided A Gentleman of Noble Parentage, Of faire Demeanes, Youthfull, and Nobly Allied, Stuft as they ſay with Honourable parts, Proportion'd as ones thought would wiſh a man, And then to haue a wretched puling foole, A whining mammet, in her Fortunes tender, To anſwer, Ile no wed, I cannot Loue: I am too young, I pray you pardon me. But, and you will not wed, Ile pardon you. Graze where you will, you ſhall not houſe with me: Looke too't, thinke on't, I do not vſe to ieſt. Thurſday is neere, lay hand on heart, aduiſe, And you be mine, Ile giue you to my Friend: And you be not, hang, beg, ſtraue, die in the ſtreets, For by my ſoule, Ile nere acknowledge thee, Nor what is mine ſhall neuer do thee good: Truſt too't, bethinke you, Ile not be forſworne