Shakespeare, William · published 1598 · first performed or written c.1595 (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men · before the Court unassigned nearest T16 Gallantry: ladies, lordships and complim · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T16: lady, madam, gentleman, lordship, ladies, honour, mistress, sweet, court, servant.
Was that the king that spurred his horse so hard, Against the steep up rising of the hill? I know not, but I think it was not he. Who ere a was, a showed a mounting mind. Well Lords, to day we shall have our dispatch, Ore Saturday we will return to France. Then Forester my friend, Where is the Bush That we must stand and play the murderer in? Hereby upon the edge of yonder Coppice, A Stand where you may make the fairest shoot. I thank my Beauty, I am fair that shoot▪ And thereupon thou speak'st the fairest shoot. Pardon me Madam, for I meant not so. What, what? First praise me, and again say no. O short lived pride. Not fair? alack for woe Yes Madam fair. Nay, never paint me now, Where fair is not, praise cannot mend the brow. Hear (good my glass) take this for telling true: Fair payment for foul words, is more than dew. No thing but fair is that which you inherit. See see, my beauty willbe saved by merit. O heresy in fair, fit for these days, A giving hand, though fowl, shall have fair praise. But come, the Bow: Now Mercy goes to kill, And shooting well, is then accounted ill: Thus will I save my Credit in the shoot, Not wounding, pity would not let me doote. If wounding then it was to show my skill, That more for praise, than purpose meant to kill. And out of question so it is sometimes: Glory grows guilty of detested crimes, When for Fame's sake, for praise an outward part, We bend to that, the working of the heart. As I for praise alone now seek to spill The poor deer's blood, that my heart means no ill. Do not cursed wives hold that selfe-soveraigntie Only for praise sake, when they strive to be Lords o'er their Lords? Only for praise, and praise we may afford, To any Lady that subdewes a Lord. Here comes a member of the common wealth. God dig-you-den all, pray you which is the head lady? Thou shalt know her fellow by the rest that have no heads. Which is the greatest Lady, the highest? The thickest, and the tallest. The thickest, and the tallest: it is so, truth is truth. And your waste Mistress were as slender as my wit, One a these maids girdles for your waste should be fit. Are not you the chief woman? You are the thickest here. What's your will sir? What's your will? I have a Letter from monsieur Berowne, to one Lady Rosaline. O thy letter, thy letter: He's a good friend of mine. Stand a side good bearer. Boyet you can carve, Break up this Capon. I am bound to serve. This letter is mistook: it importeth none here. It is writ to Iaquenetta. We will read it, I swear. Break the neck of the Wax, and every one give ear.
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)
Was that the king that ſpurd his horſe ſo hard, Againſt the ſteepe vp riſing of the hill? I know not, but I thinke it was not he. Who ere a was, a ſhowd a mounting minde. Well Lords, to day we ſhall haue our diſpatch, Ore Saterday we will returne to Fraunce. Then Forreſter my friend, Where is the Buſh That we muſt ſtand and play the murtherer in? Heereby vpon the edge of yonder Coppice, A Stand where you may make the faireſt ſhoote. I thanke my Beautie, I am faire that ſhoote▪ And thereupon thou ſpeakſt the faireſt ſhoote. Pardon me Madam, for I meant not ſo. What, what? Firſt praiſe mee, and againe ſay no. O ſhort liu'd pride. Not faire? alacke for woe Yes Madam faire. Nay, neuer paint me now, Where faire is not, praiſe cannot mend the brow. Heere (good my glaſſe) take this for telling trew: Faire payment for foule wordes, is more then dew. No thing but faire is that which you inherrit. See ſee, my beautie wilbe ſau'd by merrit. O hereſy in faire, fit for theſe dayes, A giuing hand, though fowle, ſhall haue faire praiſe. But come, the Bow: Now Mercie goes to kill, And ſhooting well, is then accounted ill: Thus will I ſaue my Credite in the ſhoote, Not wounding, pittie would not let me doote. If wounding then it was to ſhew my skill, That more for praiſe, then purpoſe meant to kill. And out of queſtion ſo it is ſometimes: Glorie growes guyltie of deteſted crimes, When for Fames ſake, for praiſe an outward part, We bend to that, the working of the hart. As I for praiſe alone now ſeeke to ſpill The poore Deares blood, that my hart meanes no ill. Do not curſt wiues hold that ſelfe-ſoueraigntie Onely for praiſe ſake, when they ſtriue to be Lords ore their Lordes? Onely for praiſe, and praiſe we may afford, To any Lady that ſubdewes a Lord. Here comes a member of the common wealth. God dig-you-den al, pray you which is the head lady? Thou ſhalt know her fellow by the reſt that haue no heads. Which is the greateſt Ladie, the higheſt? The thickeſt, and the talleſt. The thickeſt, and the talleſt: it is ſo, trueth is trueth. And your waſte Miſtrs were as ſlender as my wit, One a theſe Maides girdles for your waſte ſhould be fit. Are not you the chiefe woman? You are the thickeſt heere. Whats your will ſir? Whats your will? I haue a Letter from Monſier Berowne, to one Ladie Roſaline. O thy letter, thy letter: He's a good friend of mine. Stand a ſide good bearer. Boyet you can carue, Breake vp this Capon. I am bound to ſerue. This letter is miſtooke: it importeth none heere. It is writ to Iaquenetta. We will reade it, I ſweare. Breake the necke of the Waxe, and euery one giue eare.