Shakespeare, William · published 1600 · first performed or written 1598 (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 494 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand, Death is the fairest cover for her shame That may be wished for. How now cousin Hero? Have comfort lady. Dost thou look up? Yea, wherefore should she not? Wherefore? why doth not every earthly thing. Cry shame upon her? could she here deny The story that is printed in her blood? Do not live Hero, do not open thine eyes: For did I think thou wouldst not quickly die, Thought I thy spirits were stronger than thy shames, Myself would on the rearward of reproaches Strike at thy life. Grieved I I had but one? Chid I for that at frugal Nature's frame? O one too much by thee! why had I one? Why ever wast thou lovely in my eyes? Why had I not with charitable hand, took up a beggar's issue at my gates, Who smirched thus, and mired with infamy, I might have said, no part of it is mine, This shame derives itself from unknown loins, But mine and mine I loved, and mine I praised, And mine that I was proud on mine so much, That I myself, was to myself not mine: valueing of her, why she, O she is fallen, Into a pit of ink, that the wide sea Hath drops too few to wash her clean again, And salt too little, which may season give To her foul tainted flesh. Sir, sir, be patiented, for my part I am so attired in wonder, I know not what to say. O on my soul my cousin is belied. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? No truly, not although until last night, I have this twelvemonth been her bedfellow. Confirmed, confirmed, O that is stronger made, Which was before bar up with ribs of iron, Would the two princes lie, and Claudio lie, Who loved her so, that speaking of her foulness, Washed it with tears! hence from her, let her die. Hear me a little, for I have only been silent so long, & given way unto this course of fortune, by noting of the lady, I have marked, A thousand blushing apparitions, To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames, In angel whiteness beat away those blushes, And in her eye there hath appeared a fire, To burn the errors that these princes hold Against her maiden truth: call me a fool, Trust not my reading, nor my observations, Which with experimental seal doth warrant The tenure of my book: trust not my age, My reverence, calling, nor divinity, If this sweet lady lie not guiltless here, Under some biting error. Friar, it cannot be, Thou seest that all the grace that she hath left, Is, that she will not add to her damnation, A sin of perjury, she not denies it: Why seek'st thou then to cover with excuse, That which appears in proper nakedness? Lady, what man is he you are accused of?
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)
O Fate! take not away thy heauy hand, Death is the fairest couer for her shame That may be wisht for. How now cosin Hero? Haue comfort lady. Dost thou looke vp? Yea, wherefore should she not? Wherfore? why doth not euery earthly thing. Cry shame vpon her? could she here deny The story that is printed in her bloud? Do not liue Hero, do not ope thme eies: For did I thinke thou wouldst not quickly die, Thought I thy spirites were stronger than thy shames, My selfe would on the rereward of reproches Strike at thy life. Grieued I I had but one? Chid I for that at frugall Natures frame? O one too much by thee! why had I one? Why euer wast thou louely in my eies? Why had I not with charitable hand, Tooke vp a beggars issue at my gates, Who smirched thus, and mired with infamy, I might haue said, no part of it is mine, This shame deriues it selfe from vnknowne loynes, But mine and mine I loued, and mine I praisde, And mine that I was prowd on mine so much, That I my selfe▪ was to my selfe not mine: Valewing of her, why she, O she is falne, Into a pit of incke, that the wide sea Hath drops too few to wash her cleane againe, And salt too little, which may season giue To her foule tainted flesh. Sir, sir, be patient, for my part I am so attired in wonder, I know not what to say. O on my soule my cosin is belied. Lady, were you her bedfellow last night? No truly, not although vntill last night, I haue this tweluemonth bin her bedfellow. Confirmd, confirmd, O that is stronger made, Which was before bard vp with ribs of yron, Would the two princes lie, and Claudio lie, Who loued her so, that speaking of her foulenesse, Washt it with teares! hence from her, let her die. Heare me a little, for I haue only bin silent so long, & giuen way vnto this course of fortune, by noting of the lady, I haue markt, A thousand blushing apparitions, To start into her face, a thousand innocent shames, In angel whitenesse beate away those blushes, And in her eie there hath appeard a fire, To burne the errors that these princes hold Against her maiden truth: call me a foole, Trust not my reading, nor my obseruations, Which with experimental seale doth warrant The tenure of my booke: trust not my age, My reuerence, calling, nor diuinitie, If this sweete ladie lie not guiltlesse here, Vnder some biting errour. Frier, it cannot be, Thou seest that al the grace that she hath left, Is, that she will not adde to her damnation, A sinne of periury, she not denies it: Why seekst thou then to couer with excuse, That which appeares in proper nakednesse? Lady, what man is he you are accusde of?