The Merchant of Venice (The Jew of Venice) · chunk 11 of 43
Shakespeare, William · published 1619 · first performed or written 1596 [1596-1598] (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 495 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
But I pray you ergo old man, ergo I beseech you, talk you of young M. Lancelet. Of Lancelet an't please your mastership. Ergo master Lancelet, talk not of Master Lancelet Father; for the young Gentleman according to fates and destinies, and such odd sayings, the sister's three, and such branches of learning, is indeed deceased, or as you would say in plain terms, gone to heaven. Marry God forbidden, the boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop. Do I look like a cudgel or a hovel post, a staff, or a prop: do you know me Father. A lack the day, I know you not young Gentleman, but I pray you tell me, is my boy (GOD rest his soul) alive or dead. Do you not know me Father? Alack sir, I am sand blind, I know you not. Nay, in deed if you had your eyes you might fail of the knowing me: it is a wise Father that knows his own child. Well, old man, I will tell you news of your son, give me your blessing; truth will come to light, murder cannot be hid long, a man's son may, but at the length truth will out. Pray you sir stand up, I am sure you are not Launcelet my boy. Pray you let's have no more fooling about it, but give me your blessing; I am Lancelot your boy that was, your son that is, your child that shall be. I cannot think you are my son. I know not what I shall think of that, but I am Lancelet the Jews man, and I am sure Margery your wife is my mother. Her name is Margery indeed, i'll be sworn if thou be Lancelet, thou art mine own flesh and blood: Lord worshipped might he be, what a beard hast thou got? thou hast got more hair on thy chin, than Dobbin my pilhorse has on his tale. It should seem then that Dobbins tail grows backward. I am sure he had more hair of his tail than I have of my face, when I last saw him. Lord how art thou changed: how dost thou and thy Master agree? I have brought him a present; how agree you now? Well, well, but for mine own part, as I have set up my rest to run away, so I will not rest till I have run some ground; My master's a very Jew, give him a present, give him a halter, I am famished in his service. You may tell every finger I have with my ribs: Father I am glad you are come, give me your present to one Master Bassanio, who indeed gives rare new liveries, if I serve not him, I will run as far as God has any ground. O rare fortune, here comes the man, to him Father, for I am a Jew if I serve the Jew any longer.
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)
But I pray you ergo olde man, ergo I beſeech you, talke you of yong M. Lancelet. Of Lancelet an't pleaſe your maſterſhip. Ergo maſter Lancelet, talke not of maiſter Lancelet Father; for the yong Gentleman according to fates and deſtinies, and ſuch odd ſayings, the ſiſters three, and ſuch braunches of learning, is indeed deceaſed, or as you would ſay in plain terms, gone to heauen. Marry God forbid, the boy was the verie ſtaffe of my age, my very prop. Do I looke like a cudgell or a houell poſte, a ſtaffe, or a prop: do you know me Father. A lacke the day, I know you not yong Gentleman, but I pray you tell mee, is my boy (GOD reſt his ſoule) aliue or dead. Do you not know me Father? Alacke ſir, I am ſand blinde, I know you not. Nay, in deede if you had your eyes you might faile of the knowing me: it is a wiſe Father that knowes his own child. Well, olde man, I will tell you newes of your ſonne, giue mee your bleſſing; Trueth will come to light, Murther cannot be hidde long, a mans ſonne may, but at the length trueth will out. Pray you ſir ſtand vp, I am ſure you are not Launcelet my boy. Pray you let's haue no more fooling about it, but giue me your bleſſing; I am Lancelot your boy that was, your ſon that is, your child that ſhall be. I cannot thinke you are my ſonne. I know not what I ſhall thinke of that, but I am Lancelet the Iews man, and I am ſure Margery your wife is my mother. Her name is Margery indeede, ile be ſworne if thou bee Lancelet, thou art mine owne fleſh and blood: Lord worſhipt might he be, what a beard haſt thou got? thou haſt got more haire on thy chin, then Dobbin my pilhorſe has on his tale. It ſhould ſeeme then that Dobbins taile growes backward. I am ſure he had more haire of his tayle then I haue of my face, when I laſt ſaw him. Lord how art thou chang'd: how doeſt thou and thy Maſter agree? I haue brought him a preſent; how agree you now? Well, well, but for mine owne part, as I haue ſet vp my reſt to runne away, ſo I will not reſt till I haue run ſome ground; My maſter's a very Iew, giue him a preſent, giue him a halter, I am famiſht in his ſeruice. You may tell euery finger I haue with my ribs: Father I am glad you are come, giue me your preſent to one Maſter Baſſanio, who indeed giues rare new liueries, if I ſerue not him, I will runne as farre as God has any ground. O rare fortune, here comes the man, to him Father, for I am a Iew if I ſerue the Iew any longer.