Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1597 [c.1597-1598] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T44 Drinking: wine, ale and taverns · 504 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T44: drink, wine, numps, ale, butler, pot, sing, moy, drunk, win.
Well, thus we play the Fools with the time & the spirits of the wise, sit in the clouds, and mock us: Is your Master here in London? Yes my Lord. Where sups he? Doth the old Boar, feed in the old Frank? At the old place my Lord, in Eastcheap. What Company? Ephesians my Lord, of the old Church. Sup any women with him? None my Lord, but old Mistress Quickly, and M. Doll Tearsheet. What Pagan may that be? A proper Gentlewoman, Sir, and a Kinswoman of my Masters. Even such Kin, as the Parish Heyfors are to the Town-bull? Shall we steal upon them (Ned) at Supper? I am your shadow, my Lord, I'll follow you. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your Master that I am yet in Town. There's for your silence. I have no tongue, sir. And for mine Sir, I will govern it. Far ye well: go. This Doll Tearsheet should be some Rode. I warrant you, as common as the way between S. Alban, and London. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to night, in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen? Put on two Leather jerkins, and Aprons, and wait upon him at his Table, like Drawers. From a God, to a Bull? A heavy declension: It was Jove's case. From a Prince, to a Apprentice, a low transformation, that shall be mine: for in every thing, the purpose must weigh with the folly. Fellow me Ned. I prithee loving Wife, and gentle Daughter, Give an even way unto my rough Affairs: Put not you on the visage of the Times, And be like them to Percy, troublesome. I have given over, I will speak no more, Do what you will: your Wisdom, be your guide. Alas (sweet Wife) my Honour is at pawn, And but my going, nothing can redeem it. Oh yet, for heaven's sake, go not to these Wars; The Time was (Father) when you broke your word, When you were more endeared to it, than now, When your own Percy, when my heart-deere Harry, Threw many a Northward look, to see his Father Bring up his Powers: but he did long in vain. Who then persuaded you to stay at home? There were two Honours lost; Yours, and your Sons. For Yours, may heavenly glory brighten it: For His, it stuck upon him, as the Sun In the grey vault of Heaven: and by his Light Did all the Chivalry of England move To do brave Acts. He was (indeed) the Glass Wherein the Noble-Youth did dress themselves. He had no Legs, that practised not his Gate: And speaking thick (which Nature made his blemish) Became the Accents of the Valiant. For those that could speak low, and tardily, Would turn their own Perfection, to Abuse, To seem like him. So that in Speech, in Gate, In Diet, in Affections of delight, In Military Rules, Humours of Blood, He was the Mark, and Glass, Copy, and Book,
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)
Well, thus we play the Fooles with the time & the ſpirits of the wiſe, ſit in the clouds, and mocke vs: Is your Maſter heere in London? Yes my Lord. Where ſuppes he? Doth the old Bore, feede in the old Franke? At the old place my Lord, in Eaſt-cheape. What Company? Epheſians my Lord, of the old Church. Sup any women with him? None my Lord, but old Miſtris Quickly, and M. Doll Teare-ſheet. What Pagan may that be? A proper Gentlewoman, Sir, and a Kinſwoman of my Maſters. Euen ſuch Kin, as the Pariſh Heyfors are to the Towne-Bull? Shall we ſteale vpon them (Ned) at Supper? I am your ſhadow, my Lord, Ile follow you. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your Maſter that I am yet in Towne. There's for your ſilence. I haue no tongue, ſir. And for mine Sir, I will gouerne it. Fare ye well: go. This Doll Teare-ſheet ſhould be ſome Rode. I warrant you, as common as the way betweene S. Albans, and London. How might we ſee Falſtaffe beſtow himſelfe to night, in his true colours, and not our ſelues be ſeene? Put on two Leather Ierkins, and Aprons, and waite vpon him at his Table, like Drawers. From a God, to a Bull? A heauie declenſion: It was Ioues caſe. From a Prince, to a Prentice, a low tranſformation, that ſhall be mine: for in euery thing, the purpoſe muſt weigh with the folly. Follow me Ned. I prethee louing Wife, and gentle Daughter, Giue an euen way vnto my rough Affaires: Put not you on the viſage of the Times, And be like them to Percie, troubleſome. I haue giuen ouer, I will ſpeak no more, Do what you will: your Wiſedome, be your guide. Alas (ſweet Wife) my Honor is at pawne, And but my going, nothing can redeeme it. Oh yet, for heauens ſake, go not to theſe Warrs; The Time was (Father) when you broke your word, When you were more endeer'd to it, then now, When your owne Percy, when my heart-deere Harry, Threw many a Northward looke, to ſee his Father Bring vp his Powres: but he did long in vaine. Who then perſwaded you to ſtay at home? There were two Honors loſt; Yours, and your Sonnes. For Yours, may heauenly glory brighten it: For His, it ſtucke vpon him, as the Sunne In the gray vault of Heauen: and by his Light Did all the Cheualrie of England moue To do braue Acts. He was (indeed) the Glaſſe Wherein the Noble-Youth did dreſſe themſelues. He had no Legges, that practic'd not his Gate: And ſpeaking thicke (which Nature made his blemiſh) Became the Accents of the Valiant. For thoſe that could ſpeake low, and tardily, Would turne their owne Perfection, to Abuſe, To ſeeme like him. So that in Speech, in Gate, In Diet, in Affections of delight, In Militarie Rules, Humors of Blood, He was the Marke, and Glaſſe, Coppy, and Booke,