The Merchant of Venice (The Jew of Venice) · chunk 40 of 43
Shakespeare, William · published 1619 · first performed or written 1596 [1596-1598] (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T24 Apollo, Phoebus and the Muses · 510 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T24: apollo, phoebus, midas, muses, ears, play, hedone, gods, siren, time.
The reason is, your spirits are attentive: For, do but note a wild and wanton heard, Or race of youthful and unhandled Colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud, Which is the hot condition of their blood, If they perchance but hear a Trumpet sound, Or any air of music touch their ears, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze, By the sweet power of music. Therefore the Poet Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods. Since nought so stockish hard and full of rage, But music for the time doth change his nature: The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils, The motions of his spirit are dull as night, and his affections dark as Terebus: Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music. That light we see is burning in my hall: How far that little candle throws his beams, So shines a good deed in a naughty world. When the moon shone we did not see the candle. So doth the greater glory dim the less. A substitute shines brightly as a King. Until a King be by, and then his state Empties itself, as doth an inland brook Into the main of waters: music, hark. It is your music Madam of the house. Nothing is good I see without respect, Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day. Silence bestows that virtue on it Madam. The Crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark, When neither is attended: and I think The Nightingale if she should sing by day When every Goose is cackling, would be thought No better a Musitian then the Wren. How many things by season, seasoned are To their right praise, and true perfection. Peace, how the moon sleeps with Endymion, And would not be awaked. That is the voice, Or I am much deceived of Portia. He knows me as the blind man knows The cuckoo, by the bad voice. Dear Lady, welcome home. We have been praying for our husband health, Which speed we hope the better for our words. Are they returned? Madam, they are not yet: But there is come a Messenger before, To signify their coming. Go in Nerrissa, Give order to my servants, that they take No note at all of our being absent hence, Nor you Lorenzo, Jessica nor you. Your husband is at hand, I hear his Trumpet, We are no tell-tales madam, fear you not. This night me thinks is but the day light sick, It looks a little paler, 'tis a day, Such as the day is when the sun is hid. We should hold day with the Antipodes, If you would walk in absence of the sun. Let me give light, but let me not be light, For a light wife doth make a heavy husband, And never be Bassanio so for me, But God sort all: you're welcome home my Lord.
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)
The reaſon is, your ſpirits are attentiue: For, do but note a wilde and wanton heard, Or race of youthfull and vnhandled Colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing lowd, Which is the hot condition of their blood, If they perchance but heare a Trumpet ſound, Or any aire of muſicke touch their eares, You ſhall perceiue them make a mutuall ſtand, Their ſauage eies turn'd to a modeſt gaze, By the ſweete power of muſicke. Therefore the Poet Did faine that Orpheus drew trees, ſtones, and floods. Since nought ſo ſtockiſh hard and full of rage, But muſicke for the time doth change his nature: The man that hath no muſicke in himſelfe, Nor is not moou'd with concord of ſweete ſounds, Is fit for treaſons, ſtratagems, and ſpoyles, The motions of his ſpirit are dull as night, and his affections darke as Terebus: Let no ſuch man be truſted. Marke the Muſicke. That light we ſee is burning in my hall: How farre that little candle throwes his beames, So ſhines a good deede in a naughty world. When the Moone ſhone we did not ſee the candle. So doth the greater glory dim the leſſe. A ſubſtitute ſhines brightly as a King. Vntill a King be by, and then his ſtate Empties it ſelfe, as doth an in-land brooke Into the maine of waters: Muſicke, harke. It is your muſicke Madam of the houſe. Nothing is good I ſee without reſpect, Methinkes it ſounds much ſweeter then by day. Silence beſtowes that vertue on it Madam. The Crow doth ſing as ſweetly as the Larke, When neither is attended: and I thinke The Nightingale if ſhe ſhould ſing by day When euery Gooſe is cackling, would be thought No better a Muſitian then the Wren. How many things by ſeaſon, ſeaſon'd are To their right praiſe, and true perfection. Peace, how the Moone ſleepes with Endimion, And would not be awak'd. That is the voice, Or I am much deceiu'd of Portia. He knowes me as the blinde man knowes The Cucko, by the bad voyce. Deere Lady, welcome home. We haue bin praying for our husband health, Which ſpeed we hope the better for our words. Are they return'd? Madam, they are not yet: But there is come a Meſſenger before, To ſignifie their comming. Go in Nerriſſa, Giue order to my ſeruants, that they take No note at all of our being abſent hence, Nor you Lorenzo, Ieſſica nor you. Your husband is at hand, I heare his Trumpet, We are no tell-tales Madame, feare you not. This night me thinkes is but the day light ſicke, It lookes a little paler, tis a day, Such as the day is when the Sunne is hid. We ſhould hold day with the Antipodes, If you would walke in abſence of the ſunne. Let me giue light, but let me not be light, For a light wife doth make a heauy husband, And neuer be Baſſanio ſo for me, But God ſort all: y'are welcome home my Lord.