Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1597 [c.1596-1597] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 488 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
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 Dowglas have, As not a Soldier of this seasons stamp, Should go so general currant through the world. By heaven I cannot flatter: I 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 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. How? has he the leisure to be sick now, In such a justling time? Who leads his power? Under whose Government come they along? His Letters bears his mind, not I his 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 Physician. I would the state of time had first been whole, Ere he by sickness had been visited: His health was never better worth than now. Sick now? droop now? this sickness doth infect The very Life-blood of our Enterprise, 'Tis catching hither, even to our Campe. He writes me here, that inward sickness, And that his friends by deputation Can not so soon be drawn: nor did he think it meet, To lay so dangerous and dear a trust On any Soul removed, but on his own. Yet doth he give us bold advertisement, That with our small conjunction we should on, To see how Fortune is disposed to us: For, as he writes, there is no quailing now, Because the King is certainly possessed Of all our purposes. What say you to it? Your Father's sickness is a maim to us. A perilous Gash, a very Limb lopped off: And yet, in faith, it is not his present want Seems more than we shall find it. Were it good, to set the exact wealth of all our states All at one Cast? To set so rich a main On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour, It were not good: for therein should we read The very Bottom, and the Soul of Hope, The very List, the very utmost Bound Of all our fortunes. Faith, and so we should, Where now remains a sweet reversion. We may boldly spend, upon the hope Of what is to come in: A comfort of retirement lives in this. A Rendezvous, a Home to fly unto, If that the Devil and Mischance look big Upon the Maidenhead of our Affairs.
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)
Rare words! braue world. Hoſteſſe, my breakfaſt, come: Oh, I could wiſh this Tauerne were my drumme. Well ſaid, my Noble Scot, if ſpeaking truth In this fine Age, were not thought flatterie, Such attribution ſhould the Dowglas haue, As not a Souldiour of this ſeaſons ſtampe, Should go ſo generall currant through the world. By heauen I cannot flatter: I defie The Tongues of Soothers. But a Brauer place In my hearts 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 breathes vpon the ground, But I will Beard him. Do ſo, and 'tis well. What Letters haſt 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 greeuous ſicke. How? haz he the leyſure to be ſicke now, In ſuch a iuſtling time? Who leades his power? Vnder whoſe Gouernment come they along? His Letters beares his minde, not I his minde. I prethee tell me, doth he keepe his Bed? He did, my Lord, foure dayes ere I ſet forth: And at the time of my departure thence, He was much fear'd by his Phyſician. I would the ſtate of time had firſt beene whole, Ere he by ſickneſſe had beene viſited: His health was neuer better worth then now. Sicke now? droope now? this ſicknes doth infect The very Life-blood of our Enterpriſe, 'Tis catching hither, euen to our Campe. He writes me here, that inward ſickneſſe, And that his friends by deputation Could not ſo ſoone be drawne: nor did he thinke it meet, To lay ſo dangerous and deare a truſt On any Soule remou'd, but on his owne. Yet doth he giue vs bold aduertiſement, That with our ſmall coniunction we ſhould on, To ſee how Fortune is diſpos'd to vs: For, as he writes, there is no quailing now, Becauſe the King is certainely poſſeſt Of all our purpoſes. What ſay you to it? Your Fathers ſickneſſe is a mayme to vs. A perillous Gaſh, a very Limme lopt off: And yet, in faith, it is not his preſent want Seemes more then we ſhall finde it. Were it good▪ to ſet the exact wealth of all our ſtates All at one Caſt? To ſet ſo rich a mayne On the nice hazard of one doubtfull houre, It were not good: for therein ſhould we reade The very Bottome, and the Soule of Hope, The very Liſt, the very vtmoſt Bound Of all our fortunes. Faith, and ſo wee ſhould, Where now remaines a ſweet reuerſion. We may boldly ſpend, vpon the hope Of what is to come in: A comfort of retyrement liues in this. A Randeuous, a Home to flye vnto, If that the Deuill and Miſchance looke bigg Vpon the Maydenhead of our Affaires.