Shakespeare, William · published 1600 · first performed or written 1598 (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 483 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
An old, an old instance Beatrice, that lived in the time of good neighbours, if a man do not erect in this age his own tomb ere he dies, he shall live no longer in monument, than the bell rings, and the widow weeps. And how long is that think you? Question, why an hour in clamour and a quarter in rheum, therefore is it most expedient for the wise, if Don worm (his conscience) find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his own virtues, as I am to myself so much for praising myself, who I myself will bear witness is praise worthy, and now tell me, how doth your cousin? Very ill. And how do you? Very ill too. Serve God, love me, and mend, there will I leave you too, for here comes one in haste. Madam, you must come to your uncle, yonder's old coil at home, it is proved my Lady Hero hath been falsely accused, the Prince and Claudio mightily abused, and Don Iohn is the author of all, who is fled and gone: will you come presently? Will you go hear this news signor? I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes: and moreover, I will go with thee to thy uncles. Is this the monument of Leonato? It is my Lord. Done to death by slauderous tongues, Was the Hero that here lies: Death in guerdon of her wrongs, Gives her fame which never dies: So the life that died with shame, lives in death with glorious fame. Hang thou there upon the tomb, Praising her when I am dead. Now music sound & sing your solemn hymn. them, but I think they are more flexi Pardon goddesse of the night, Those that slew thy virgin knight, For the which with songs of woe, Round about her tomb they go: Midnight assist our moan, help us to sigh & groan. Heavily heavily. graves yawn and yield your dead, Till death be uttered, Heavily heavily. Now unto thy bones good night, yearly will I do this right. Good morrow masters, put your torches out, The wolves have preied, and look, the gentle day Before the wheels of Phoebus, round about Dapples the drowsy East with spots of grey: Thanks to you all, and leave us, far you well. Good morrow masters, each his several way. Come let us hence, and put on other weeds, And then to Leonatoes' we will go. And Hymen now with luckier issue speeds, Then this for whom we rendered up this woe. Did I not tell you she was innocent? So are the Prince and Claudio who accused her, Upon the error that you heard debated: But Margaret was in some fault for this, Although against her will as it appears, In the true course of all the question.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
An old, an old instance Beatrice, that liu'd in the time of good neighbours, if a man do not erect in this age his owne toomb ere he dies, he shall liue no longer in monument, then the bell rings, and the widow weepes. And how long is that thinke you? Question, why an hower in clamour and a quarter in rhewme, therefore is it most expedient for the wise, if Don worme (his conscience) find no impediment to the contrary, to be the trumpet of his owne vertues, as I am to my self so much for praising my selfe, who I my selfe will beare witnes is praise worthie, and now tell me, how doth your cosin? Verie ill. And how do you? Verie ill too. Serue God, loue me, and mend, there wil I leaue you too, for here comes one in haste. Madam, you must come to your vncle, yonders old coile at home, it is prooued my Lady Hero hath bin falsely accusde, the Prince and Claudio mightily abusde, and Don Iohn is the author of all, who is fled and gone: will you come presently? Will you go heare this newes signior? I wil liue in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eies: and moreouer, I wil go with thee to thy vncles. Is this the monument of Leonato? It is my Lord. Done to death by slauderous tongues, Was the Hero that heere lies: Death in guerdon of her wronges, Giues her fame which neuer dies: So the life that dyed with shame, Liues in death with glorious fame. Hang thou there vpon the toomb, Praising hir when I am dead. Now musick sound & sing your solemne hymne. them, but I think they are more flexi Pardon goddesse of the night, Those that slew thy virgin knight, For the which with songs of woe, Round about her tombe they goe: Midnight assist our mone, help vs to sigh & grone. Heauily heauily. Graues yawne and yeeld your dead, Till death be vttered, Heauily heauily. Now vnto thy bones good night, yeerely will I do this right. Good morrow maisters, put your torches out, The wolues haue preied, and looke, the gentle day Before the wheeles of Phoebus, round about Dapples the drowsie East with spots of grey: Thanks to you al, and leaue vs, fare you well. Good morrow masters, each his seuerall way. Come let vs hence, and put on other weedes, And then to Leonatoes we will goe. And Hymen now with luckier issue speeds, Then this for whom we rendred vp this woe. Did I not tell you shee was innocent? So are the Prince and Claudio who accusd her, Vpon the errour that you heard debated: But Margaret was in some fault for this, Although against her will as it appeares, In the true course of all the question.