Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1598 (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 485 words · other edition — not in the analysis
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 monuments, than the Bells ring, & 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 wife, 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 Signior? I will hue 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 slanderous 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 dumb. Now music sound & sing your solemn hymn Pardon goddess 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 and groan Heavily, heavily. graves yaw and yield your dead, Till death be uttered, Heavenly, heavenly. 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. Well, I am glad that all things sort so well.
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)
An old, an old inſtance Beatrice, that liu'd in the time of good neighbours, if a man doe not erect in this age his owne tombe ere he dies, hee ſhall liue no longer in monuments, then the Bels ring, & the Widdow weepes. And how long is that thinke you? Queſtion, why an hower in clamour and a quarter in rhewme, therfore is it moſt expedient for the wife, if Don worme (his conſcience) finde no impediment to the contrarie, to be the trumpet of his owne vertues, as I am to my ſelfe ſo much for praiſing my ſelfe, who I my ſelfe will beare witneſſe is praiſe worthie, and now tell me, how doth your coſin? Verie ill. And how doe you? Verie ill too. Serue God, loue me, and mend, there will 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 Ladie Hero hath bin falſelie accuſde, the Prince and Claudio mightilie abuſde, and Don Iohn is the author of all, who is fled and gone: will you come preſentlie? Will you go heare this newes Signior? I will hue in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eies: and moreouer, I will goe with thee to thy Vncles. Is this the monument of Leonato? It is my Lord. Done to death by ſlanderous tongues, Was the Hero that here lies: Death in guerdon of her wrongs, Giues her fame which neuer dies: So the life that dyed with ſhame, Liues in death with glorious fame. Hang thou there vpon the tombe, Praiſing her when I am dombe. Now muſick ſound & ſing your ſolemn hymne 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, helpe vs to ſigh and grone Heauily, heauily. Graues yawne and yeelde your dead, Till death be vttered, Heauenly, heauenly. Now vnto thy bones good night, yeerely will I do this right. Good morrow maſters, 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 all, 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 ſhe was innocent? So are the Prince and Claudio who accus'd 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. Well, I am glad that all things ſort ſo well.