Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1598 (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T49 Wooing a mistress: suitors, go-betweens typicality 0.77 · 479 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T49: mistress, gentleman, love, lady, woman, pray, gentlewoman, hear, honest, way.
They did entreat me to acquaint her of it, But I persuaded them, if they loved Benedick, To wish him wrestle with affection, And never to let Beatrice know of it. Why did you so, doth not the Gentleman Deserve as full as fortunate a bed, As ever Beatrice shall couch upon? O God of love! I know he doth deserve, As much as may be yielded to a man: But Nature never framed a woman's heart, Of prouder stuff then that of Beatrice: Disdaine and Scorne ride sparkling in her eyes, Mis-prizing what they look on, and her wit Values itself so highly, that to her All matter else seems weak: she cannot love, Nor take no shape nor project of affection, She is so self endeared. Sure I think so, And therefore certainly it were not good She knew his love, left she make sport at it. Why you speak truth, I never yet saw man, How wise, how noble, young, how rarely featured. But she would spell him backward: if fair faced, She would swear the gentleman should be her sister: If black, why Nature drawing of an antic, Made a foul blot: if tall, a lance ill headed: If low, an agate very vildly cut: If speaking, why a vane blown with all winds: If silent, why a block moved with none. So turns she every man the wrong side out, And never gives to Truth and Virtue, that Which simpleness and merit purchaseth. Sure, sure, such carping is not commendable. No, not to be so odd, and from all fashions, As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable, But who dare tell her so? if I should speak, She would mock me into air, O she would laugh me Out of myself, press me to death with wit, Therefore let Benedick like covered fire, Consume away in sighs, waste inwardly: It were a better death, to die with mocks, Which is as bad as die with tickling. Yet tell her of it, hear what she will say. No, rather I will go to Benedick, And counsel him to fight against his passion, And truly I'll device some honest slanders, To stain my cousin with, one doth not know, How much an ill word may impoison liking. O do not do your cousin such a wrong, She cannot be so much without true judgement, Having so swift and excellent a wit As she is prised to have, as to refuse So rare a Gentleman as signior Benedick. He is the only man of Italy, Always excepted, my dear Claudio. I pray you be not angry with me, Madame, Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedick, For shape, for bearing argument and valour, Goes foremost in report through Italy. Indeed he hath an excellent good name. His excellence did earn it ere he had it: When are you married Madame?
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 492–553 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 19 of 42 in this edition
Length
479 words · 624 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T49 — Wooing a mistress: suitors, go-betweens and letterscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.773 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
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)
They did intreate me to acquaint her of it, But I perſwaded them, if they lou'd Benedicke, To wiſh him wraſtle with affection, And neuer to let Beatrice know of it. Why did you ſo, doth not the Gentleman Deſerue as full as fortunate a bed, As euer Beatrice ſhall couch vpon? O God of loue! I know he doth deſerue, As much as may be yeelded to a man: But Nature neuer fram'd a womans heart, Of prowder ſtuffe then that of Beatrice: Diſdaine and Scorne ride ſparkling in her eyes, Miſ-prizing what they looke on, and her wit Values it ſelfe ſo highly, that to her All matter elſe ſeemes weake: ſhe cannot loue, Nor take no ſhape nor proiect of affection, Shee is ſo ſelfe indeared. Sure I thinke ſo, And therefore certainely it were not good She knew his loue, left ſhe make ſport at it. Why you ſpeake truth, I neuer yet ſaw man, How wiſe, how noble, yong, how rarely featur'd. But ſhe would ſpell him backward: if faire fac'd, She would ſweare the gentleman ſhould be her ſiſter: If blacke, why Nature drawing of an anticke, Made a foule blot: if tall, a launce ill headed: If low, an agot very vildlie cut: If ſpeaking, why a vane blowne with all windes: If ſilent, why a blocke moued with none. So turnes ſhe euery man the wrong ſide out, And neuer giues to Truth and Vertue, that Which ſimpleneſſe and merit purchaſeth. Sure, ſure, ſuch carping is not commendable. No, not to be ſo odde, and from all faſhions, As Beatrice is, cannot be commendable, But who dare tell her ſo? if I ſhould ſpeake, She would mocke me into ayre, O ſhe would laugh me Out of my ſelfe, preſſe me to death with wit, Therefore let Benedicke like couered fire, Conſume away in ſighes, waſte inwardly: It were a better death, to die with mockes, Which is as bad as die with tickling. Yet tell her of it, heare what ſhee will ſay. No, rather I will goe to Benedicke, And counſaile him to fight againſt his paſſion, And truly Ile deuiſe ſome honeſt ſlanders, To ſtaine my coſin with, one doth not know, How much an ill word may impoiſon liking. O doe not doe your coſin ſuch a wrong, She cannot be ſo much without true iudgement, Hauing ſo ſwift and excellent a wit As ſhe is priſde to haue, as to refuſe So rare a Gentleman as ſignior Benedicke. He is the onely man of Italy, Alwaies excepted, my deare Claudio. I pray you be not angry with me, Madame, Speaking my fancy: Signior Benedicke, For ſhape, for bearing argument and valour, Goes formoſt in report through Italy. Indeed he hath an excellent good name. His excellence did earne it ere he had it: When are you married Madame?