Shakespeare, William · published 1600 · first performed or written 1596 [1594-1596] (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 462 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
Sweet Moon, I thank thee, for thy sunny beams. I thank thee, Moon, for shining now so bright. For by thy gracious, golden, glittering beams, I trust to take of truest Thisbe sight. But stay: o spite! but mark, poor knight, What dreadful dole is here? Eyes do you see! How can it be! O dainty duck, o dear! Thy mantle good, what, stained with blood? Approach ye Furies fell, O fates come, come, cut thread and thrum, Quail, crush, conclude, and quell. This passion, & the death of a dear friend would go near to make a man look sad. Beshrew my heart, but I pity the man. O, wherefore, Nature, didst thou Lions frame? Since Lion wild hath here deflowered my dear. Which is, no, no: which was the fairest dame That lived, that loved, that liked, that looked with cheer. Come tears, confound, out sword, and wound The pap of Pyramus: I, that left pap, where heart doth hop. Thus die I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, now am I fled, my soul is in the sky. Tongue lose thy light, Moon take thy flight, Now die, dy, dy, dy, dy. No Die, but an ace for him. For he is but one. Less than an ace, man. For he is dead, he is nothing. With the help of a Surgeon, he might yet recover, and yet prove an Ass. How chance Moonshine is gone before? Thisbe comes back, and finds her lover▪ She will find him, by starlight. Here she comes, and her passion ends the Play. Me thinks, she should not use a long one, for such a Pyramus: I hope, she will be brief. A moth will turn the balance; which Pyramus, which Thisbe is the better: he for a man; God warned us▪ she, for a woman; God bless us. She hath spied him already, with those sweet eyes. And thus she means, videlicet; A sleep my love? What, dead my dove? O Pyramus, arise, Speak, speak. Quite dumb? Dead, dead? A tomb Must cover thy sweet eyes. These lily lips, this cherry nose, These yellow cowslippe cheeks Are gone, are gone: lovers make moon: His eyes were green, as leeks, O sisters three, come, come, to me, With hands as pale as milk, Lay them in gore, since you have shore With shears, his thread of silk. Tongue, not a word: come trusty sword, Come blade, my breast embrew: And farewell friends: thus Thysby ends: Adieu, adieu, adieu. Moonshine and Lion are left to bury the dead. I, and Wall to. No, I assure you, the wall is down, that parted their fathers. Will it please you, to see the Epilogue, or to hear a Bergomaske dance, between two of our company?
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)
Sweete Moone, I thanke thee, for thy sunny beams. I thanke thee, Moone, for shining now so bright. For by thy gratious, golden, glittering beames, I trust to take of truest Thisby sight. But stay: ó spight! but marke, poore knight, What dreadfull dole is here? Eyes do you see! How can it bee! O dainty duck, o deare! Thy mantle good, what, staind with blood? Approach ye Furies fell, O fates come, come, cut thread and thrumme, Quaile, crush, conclude, and quell. This passion, & the death of a deare friend would goe neere to make a man looke sad. Beshrewe my heart, but I pitty the man. O, wherefore, Nature, didst thou Lyons frame? Since Lyon vilde hath here deflour'd my deare. Which is, no, no: which was the fairest dame That liu'd, that lou'd, that lik't, that look't with cheere. Come teares, confound, out sword, and wound The pappe of Pyramus: I, that left pappe, where heart doth hoppe. Thus dy I, thus, thus, thus. Now am I dead, now am I fled, my soule is in the sky. Tongue loose thy light, Moone take thy flight, Now dy, dy, dy, dy, dy. No Die, but an ace for him. For he is but one. Lesse then an ace, man. For he is dead, he is nothing. With the helpe of a Surgeon, he might yet recouer, and yet prooue an Asse. How chance Moone-shine is gone before? Thisby comes backe, and findes her louer▪ Shee will finde him, by starre-light. Here shee comes, and her passion ends the Play. Me thinkes, she should not vse a long one, for such a Pyramus: I hope, she will be briefe. A moth will turne the ballance; which Pyramus, which Thisby is the better: he for a man; God warnd vs▪ she, for a woman; God blesse vs. She hath spied him already, with those sweete eyes. And thus she meanes, videlicet; A sleepe my loue? What, dead my doue? O Pyramus, arise, Speake, speake. Quite dumbe? Dead, dead? A tumbe Must couer thy sweete eyes. These lilly lippes, this cherry nose, These yellow cowslippe cheekes Are gon, are gon: louers make mone: His eyes were greene, as leekes, O sisters three, come, come, to mee, With hands as pale as milke, Lay them in gore, since you haue shore With sheeres, his threede of silke. Tongue, not a word: come trusty sword, Come blade, my breast imbrew: And farewell friends: thus Thysby ends: Adieu, adieu, adieu. Moone-shine and Lyon are left to bury the dead. I, and Wall to. No, I assure you, the wall is downe, that parted their fathers. Will it please you, to see the Epilogue, or to heare a Bergomaske daunce, between two of our cōpany?