Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1597 [c.1597-1598] (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.
Belike then, my Appetite was not Princely got: for (in troth) I do now remember the poor Creature, Small Beer. But indeed these humble considerations make me out of love with my Greatness. What a disgrace is it to me, to remember thy name? Or to know thy face to morrow? Or to take note how many pair of Silk stockings thou hast? (Viz. these, and those that were thy peach-coloured ones:) Or to bear the Inventory of thy shirts, as one for superfluity, and one other, for use. But that the Tennis-Court-keeper knows better than I, for it is a low ebb of Linen with thee, when thou keptest not Racket there, as thou hast not done a great while, because the rest of thy Low Countries, have made a shift to eat up thy Holland. How ill it follows, after you have laboured so hard, you should talk so idly? Tell me how many good young Princes would do so, their Father's lying so sick, as yours is? Shall I tell thee one thing, Pointz? Yes: and let it be an excellent good thing. It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding than thine. Go to: I stand the push of your one thing, that you'll tell. Why, I tell thee, it is not mere, that I should be sad now my Father is sick: albeit I could tell to thee (as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend) I could be sad and sad indeed too. Very hardly upon such a subject. Thou thinkest me as far in the Devil's Book, as thou, and Falstaff, for obduracy and persistencie. Let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my hart bleeds inwardly, that my Father is so sick: and keeping such vild company as thou art, hath in reason taken from me, all ostentation of sorrow. The reason? What wouldst thou think of me, if I should weep? I would think thee a most Princely hypocrite. It would be every man's thought: and thou art a blessed Fellow, to think as every man thinks: never a man's thought in the world, keeps the Rode-way better than thine: every man would think me an Hypocrite indeed. And what accites your most worshipful thought to think so? Why, because you have been so lewd, and so much ingraffed to Falstaff. And to thee. Nay, I am well spoken of, I can hear it with mine own ears: the worst that they can say of me is, that I am a second Brother, and that I am a proper Fellow of my hands: and those two things I confess I cannot help. Look, look, here comes Bardolfe. And the Boy that I gave Falstaff, he had him from me Christian, and see if the fat villain have not transformed him Ape. Save your Grace. And yours, most Noble Bardolfe.
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)
Belike then, my Appetite was not Princely got▪ for (in troth) I do now remember the poore Creature, Small Beere. But indeede theſe humble conſiderations make me out of loue with my Greatneſſe. What a diſgrace is it to me, to remember thy name? Or to know thy face to morrow? Or to take note how many paire of Silk ſtockings yu haſt? (Viz. theſe, and thoſe that were thy peach-colour'd ones:) Or to beare the Inuentorie of thy ſhirts, as one for ſuperfluity, and one other, for vſe. But that the Tennis-Court-keeper knowes better then I, for it is a low ebbe of Linnen with thee, when thou kept'ſt not Racket there, as thou haſt not done a great while, becauſe the reſt of thy Low Countries, haue made a ſhift to eate vp thy Holland. How ill it followes, after you haue labour'd ſo hard, you ſhould talke ſo idlely? Tell me how many good yong Princes would do ſo, their Fathers lying ſo ſicke, as yours is? Shall I tell thee one thing, Pointz? Yes: and let it be an excellent good thing. It ſhall ſerue among wittes of no higher breeding then thine. Go to: I ſtand the puſh of your one thing, that you'l tell. Why, I tell thee, it is not meer, that I ſhould be ſad now my Father is ſicke: albeit I could tell to thee (as to one it pleaſes me, for fault of a better, to call my friend) I could be ſad and ſad indeed too. Very hardly vpon ſuch a ſubiect. Thou think'ſt me as farre in the Diuels Booke, as thou, and Falſtaffe, for obduracie and perſiſtencie. Let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my hart bleeds inwardly, that my Father is ſo ſicke: and keeping ſuch vild company as thou art, hath in reaſon taken from me, all oſtentation of ſorrow. The reaſon? What would'ſt thou think of me, if I ſhold weep? I would thinke thee a moſt Princely hypocrite. It would be euery mans thought: and thou art a bleſſed Fellow, to thinke as euery man thinkes: neuer a mans thought in the world, keepes the Rode-way better then thine: euery man would thinke me an Hypocrite indeee. And what accites your moſt worſhipful thought to thinke ſo? Why, becauſe you haue beene ſo lewde, and ſo much ingraffed to Falſtaffe. And to thee. Nay, I am well ſpoken of, I can heare it with mine owne eares: the worſt that they can ſay of me is, that I am a ſecond Brother, and that I am a proper Fellowe of my hands: and thoſe two things I confeſſe I canot helpe. Looke, looke, here comes Bardolfe. And the Boy that I gaue Falſtaffe, he had him from me Chriſtian, and ſee if the fat villain haue not transform'd him Ape. Saue your Grace. And yours, moſt Noble Bardolfe.