Shakespeare, William · published 1598 · first performed or written 1597 [c.1596-1597] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 447 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
O my sweet beoffe, I must still be good angel to thee, the money is paid back again. O I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double labour. I am good friends with my father and may do any thing Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou dost, and do it with unwashed hands too. Do my Lord. I have procured thee Iacke a charge of foot. I would it had been of horse. Where shall I find one that can steal well. O for a fine thief of the age of xxii. or thereabouts: I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these rebels, they offend none but the virtuous; I laud them, I praise them. Bardoll. My Lord. Go bear this letter to Lord Iohn of Lancaster, To my brother Iohn, this to my lord of Westmoreland. Go Peto to horse, to horse, for thou and I Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time, Iacke, meet me to morrow in the temple haule At two of clock in the afternoon, There shalt thou know thy charge, and there receive Money and order for their furniture, The land is burning, Percy stands on high, And either we or they must lower lie. Rare words, brave world hostess, my breakfast come, Oh I could wish this tavern were my drum. Well said my noble Scot, if speaking truth In this fine age were not thought flattery, Such attribution should the Douglas have, As not a soldier of this seasons stamp, Should go so general currant through the world By God, I cannot flatter, I do defy The tongues of soothers, but a braver place In my heart's love hath no man then yourself, Nay task me to my word, approve me Lord. Thou art the King of honour, No man so potent breaths upon the ground, But I will beard him. Do so, and 'tis well. What letters hast thou there? I can but thank you. These letters come from your father. Letters from him, why comes he not himself? He cannot come my lord, he is grievous sick. Zounds, how has he the leisure to be sick In such a justling time, who leads his power? Under whose government come they along? His letters bears his mind, not I my mind. I prithee tell me, doth he keep his bed? He did my Lord, four days ere I set forth, And at the time of my departure thence, He was much feared by his Physicians. I would the state of time had first been whole, Ear he by sickness had been visited, His health was never better worth than now.
seed 43: T48 · seed 44: T49 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O my sweet beoffe, I must still bee good angel to thee, the mony is paid backe againe. O I do not like that paying backe, tis a double labor. I am good friends with my father and may do any thing Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and doe it with vnwasht hands too. Do my Lord. I haue procured thee Iacke a charge of foot. I would it had been of horse. Where shall I finde one that can steale well. O for a fine thiefe of the age of xxii. or thereabouts: I am hainously vnprouided. Well, God be thanked for these rebels, they offende none but the vertuous; I laude them, I praise them. Bardoll. My Lord. Go beare this letter to Lord Iohn of Lancaster, To my brother Iohn, this to my lord of Westmerland. Go Peto to horse, to horse, for thou and I Haue thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time, Iacke, eete me to morrow in the temple haule At two of clocke in the afternoone, There shalt thou know thy charge, and there receiue Money and order for their furniture, The land is burning, Percy stands on high, And either we or they must lower lie. Rare words, braue world hostesse, my breakfast come, Oh I could wish this tauerne were my drum. Wel said my noble Scot, if speaking truth In this fine age were not thought flattery, Such attribution should the Douglas haue, As not a souldior of this seasons stampe, Should go so generall currant through the world By God, I cannot flatter, I do defie The tongues of soothers, but a brauer place In my harts loue hath no man then your selfe, Nay taske me to my word, approue me Lord. Thou art the King of honor, No man so potent breaths vpon the ground, But I will beard him. Do so, and tis wel. What letters hast thou there? I can but thanke you. These letters come from your father. Letters from him, why comes he not himselfe? He cannot come my lord, he is grieuous sicke. Zounds, how has he the leisure to be sicke In such a iustling time, who leads his power? Vnder whose gouernment come they along? His letters beares his mind, not I my mind. I preethe tel me, doth he keepe his bed? He did my Lord, foure daies ere I set forth, And at the time of my departure thence, He was much fear by his Phisitions. I would the state of time had first been whole, Eare he by sicknesse had bin visited, His health was neuer better worth then now.