Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1596 [1594-1596] (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T9 Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playe typicality 0.77 · 520 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T9: play, stage, poet, prologue, author, wit, plays, muse, scene, players.
A play there is, my Lord, some ten words long, Which is as brief, as I have known a play; But by ten words, my Lord, it is too long; Which makes it tedious. For in all the play, There is not one word apt, one Player fitted. And tragical my noble Lord it is: for Pyramus Therein doth kill himself. Which when I saw Rehearsed, I must confess, made mine eyes water: But more metrie tears, the passion of loud laughter Never shed. What are they that do play it? Hard handed men, that work in Athens here, Which never laboured in their minds till now; And now have toiled their unbreathed memories With this same play, against your nuptial. And we will hear it. No, my noble Lord, it is not for you. I have heard It over, and it is nothing, nothing in the world; Unless you can find sport in their intents, Extremely stretched, and con with cruel pain, To do you service. I will hear that play. For never any thing Can be amiss, when simpleness and duty tender it. Go bring them in, and take your places, Ladies. I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharged; And duty in his service perishing. Why gentle sweet, you shall see no such thing. He says, they can do nothing in this kind. The kinder we, to give them thanks for nothing Our sport shall be, to take what they mistake; And what poor duty cannot do, noble respect Takes it in might, not merit. Where I have come, great Clerks have purposed To greet me with premeditated welcomes; Where I have seen them shiver and look pale, Make periods in the midst of sentences, Throttle their practised accent in their fears, And in conclusion, dumbly have broke off, Not paying me a welcome. Trust me sweet, Out of this silence yet, I picked a welcome: And in the modesty of fearful duty, I read as much, as from the rattling tongue Of saucy and audacious eloquence. Love therefore, and tongue-tied simplicity, In least, speak most, to my capacity. So please your Grace, the Prologue is addressed. Let him approach. If we offend, it is with our good will. That you should think, we come not to offend, But with good will. To show our simple skill, That is the true beginning of our end. Consider then, we come but in despite. We do not come, as minding to content you, Our true intent is. All for your delight, We are not here. That you should here repent you, The Actors are at hand; and by their show, You shall know all, that you are like to know. This fellow doth not stand upon points. He hath rid his Prologue, like a rough Colt: he knows not the stop. A good moral my Lord. It is not enough to speak, but to speak true. Indeed he hath played on his Prologue, like a child on a Recorder, a sound, but not in government. His speech was like a tangled chain: nothing impaired, but all disordered. Who is next?
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1562–1622 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 29 of 33 in this edition
Length
520 words · 675 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T9 — Theatre talk: prologues, poets and playerscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.772 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T16 · seed 44: T15 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
A play there is, my Lord, ſome ten words long, Which is as breefe, as I haue knowne a play; But by ten words, my Lord, it is too long; Which makes it tedious. For in all the play, There is not one word apt, one Player fitted. And tragicall my noble Lord it is: for Piramus Therein doth kill himſelfe. Which when I ſaw Rehearſt, I muſt confeſſe, made mine eyes water: But more metrie teares, the paſſion of loud laughter Neuer ſhed. What are they that do play it? Hard handed men, that worke in Athens heere, Which neuer labour'd in their mindes till now; And now haue toyled their vnbreathed memories With this ſame play, againſt your nuptiall. And we will heare it. No, my noble Lord, it is not for you. I haue heard It ouer, and it is nothing, nothing in the world; Vnleſſe you can finde ſport in their intents, Extreamely ſtretcht, and cond with cruell paine, To doe you ſeruice. I will heare that play. For neuer any thing Can be amiſſe, when ſimpleneſſe and duty tender it. Goe bring them in, and take your places, Ladies. I loue not to ſee wretchedneſſe orecharged; And duty in his ſeruice periſhing. Why gentle ſweet, you ſhall ſee no ſuch thing. He ſaies, they can doe nothing in this kinde. The kinder we, to giue them thanks for nothing Our ſport ſhall be, to take what they miſtake; And what poore duty cannot doe, noble reſpect Takes it in might, not merit. Where I haue come, great Clearkes haue purpoſed To greete me with premeditated welcomes; Where I haue ſeene them ſhiuer and looke pale, Make periods in the midſt of ſentences, Throttle their practiz'd accent in their feares, And in concluſion, dumbly haue broke off, Not paying me a welcome. Truſt me ſweete, Out of this ſilence yet, I pickt a welcome: And in the modeſty of fearefull duty, I read as much, as from the ratling tongue Of ſaucy and audacious eloquence. Loue therefore, and tongue-tide ſimplicity, In leaſt, ſpeake moſt, to my capacity. So pleaſe your Grace, the Prologue is addreſt. Let him approach. If we offend, it is with our good will. That you ſhould thinke, we come not to offend, But with good will. To ſhew our ſimple skill, That is the true beginning of our end. Conſider then, we come but in deſpight. We do not come, as minding to content you, Our true intent is. All for your delight, We are not heere. That you ſhould here repent you, The Actors are at hand; and by their ſhow, You ſhall know all, that you are like to know. This fellow doth not ſtand vpon points. He hath rid his Prologue, like a rough Colt: he knowes not the ſtop. A good morall my Lord. It is not enough to ſpeake, but to ſpeake true. Indeed hee hath plaid on his Prologue, like a childe on a Recorder, a ſound, but not in gouernment. His ſpeech was like a tangled chaine: nothing impaired, but all diſordered. Who is next?