Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1598 (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 493 words · other edition — not in the analysis
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? Can 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 reward 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 was't thou lovely in my eyes? Why had I not with charitable hand took up a beggar's issue at my gates, Who smeered 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: Valuing of her, why she, O she is fall'n 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 barred up with ribs of iron. Would the 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, and 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 bear 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 seekest 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 Ladie. Doſt thou looke vp? Yea, wherefore ſhould ſhe not? Wherfore? Why doth not euery earthly thing Cry ſhame vpon her? Could ſhe heere denie The ſtorie that is printed in her blood? Do not liue Hero, do not ope thine eyes: For did I thinke thou wouldſt not quickly die, Thought I thy ſpirits were ſtronger then thy ſhames, My ſelfe would on the reward of reproaches Strike at thy life. Grieu'd I, I had but one? Chid I, for that at frugal Natures frame? O one too much by thee: why had I one? Why euer was't thou louelie in my eies? Why had I not with charitable hand Tooke vp a beggars iſſue at my gates, Who ſmeered thus, and mir'd with infamie, I might haue ſaid, no part of it is mine: This ſhame deriues it ſelfe from vnknowne loines, But mine, and mine I lou'd, and mine I prais'd, And mine that I was proud 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 Inke, 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. Ladie, were you her bedfellow laſt night? No truly: not although vntill laſt night, I haue this tweluemonth bin her bedfellow. Confirm'd, confirm'd, O that is ſtronger made Which was before barr'd vp with ribs of iron. Would the Princes lie, and Claudio lie, Who lou'd her ſo, that ſpeaking of her foulneſſe, Waſh'd it with teares? Hence from her, let her die. Heare me a little, for I haue onely bene ſilent ſo long, and giuen way vnto this courſe of fortune, by noting of the Ladie, I haue markt. A thouſand bluſhing apparitions, To ſtart into her face, a thouſand innocent ſhames, In Angel whiteneſſe beare away thoſe bluſhes, And in her eie there hath appear'd 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 ſweet Ladie lye not guiltleſſe heere, Vnder ſome biting error. Friar, it cannot be: Thou ſeeſt that all the Grace that ſhe hath left, Is, that ſhe wil not adde to her damnation, A ſinne of periury, ſhe not denies it: Why ſeek'ſt thou then to couer with excuſe, That which appeares in proper nakedneſſe? Ladie, what man is he you are accus'd of?