The Merchant of Venice (The Jew of Venice) · chunk 38 of 42
Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1596 [1596-1598] (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T24 Apollo, Phoebus and the Muses · 478 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.
Who comes so fast in silence of the night? A friend. A friend, what friend? your name I pray you friend? Stephano is my name, and I bring word My Mistress will before the break of day Be here at Belmont, she doth stray about By holy crosses where she kneels and prays For happy wedlock hours. Who comes with her? None but a holy Hermit and her maid: I pray you it my Master yet rnturned? He is not, nor we have not heard from him, But go we in I pray thee Iessica, And ceremoniously let us us prepare Some welcome for the Mistress of the house, Sola, sola: woe ha' ho, sola, sola. Who calls? Sola, did you see M. Lorenzo, & M. Lorenzo, sola, sola. Leave hollowing man, here. Sola, where, where? here? Tell him there's a Post come from my Master, with his horn full of good news, my Master will be here ere morning sweet soul. Let's in, and there expect their coming. And yet no matter: why should we go in? My friend Stephen, signify pray you Within the house, your Mistress is at hand, And bring your music forth into the air. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank, here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears soft stillness, and the night Become the tutches of sweet harmony: Sat Iessica, look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with pattens of bright gold, There's not the smallest or be which thou beholdest But in his motion like an Angel sings, Still quiring to the young eyed Cherubins; Such harmony is in immortal souls, But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close in it, we cannot hear it: Come ho, and wake Diana with a hymn, With sweetest tutches pierce your Mistress ear, And draw her home with music. I am never merry when I hear sweet music. 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 but hear perchance 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 fain that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods. Since naught so stockish, hard, and full of rage, But music for 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 Erobus, Let no such man be trusted: mark the music.
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)
Who comes ſo faſt in ſilence of the night? A friend. A friend, what friend? your name I pray you friend? Stephano is my name, and I bring word My Miſtreſſe will before the breake of day Be heere at Belmont, ſhe doth ſtray about By holy croſſes where ſhe kneeles and prayes For happy wedlocke houres. Who comes with her? None but a holy Hermit and her maid: I pray you it my Maſter yet rnturn'd? He is not, nor we haue not heard from him, But goe we in I pray thee Ieſſica, And ceremoniouſly let vs vs prepare Some welcome for the Miſtreſſe of the houſe, Sola, ſola: wo ha ho, ſola, ſola. Who calls? Sola, did you ſee M. Lorenzo, & M. Lorenzo, ſola, ſola. Leaue hollowing man, heere. Sola, where, where? Heere? Tel him ther's a Poſt come from my Maſter, with his horne full of good newes, my Maſter will be here ere morning ſweet ſoule. Let's in, and there expect their comming. And yet no matter: why ſhould we goe in? My friend Stephen, ſignifie pray you Within the houſe, your Miſtreſſe is at hand, And bring your muſique foorth into the ayre. How ſweet the moone-light ſleepes vpon this banke, Heere will we ſit, and let the ſounds of muſicke Creepe in our eares ſoft ſtilnes, and the night Become the tutches of ſweet harmonie: Sit Ieſſica, looke how the floore of heauen Is thicke inlayed with pattens of bright gold, There's not the ſmalleſt or be which thou beholdſt But in his motion like an Angell ſings, Still quiring to the young eyed Cherubins; Such harmonie is in immortall ſoules, But whilſt this muddy veſture of decay Doth groſly cloſe in it, we cannot heare it: Come hoe, and wake Diana with a hymne, With ſweeteſt tutches pearce your Miſtreſſe eare, And draw her home with muſicke. I am neuer merry when I heare ſweet muſique. The reaſon is, your ſpirits are attentiue: For doe but note a wilde and wanton heard Or race of youthful and vnhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud, Which is the hot condition of their bloud, If they but heare perchance a trumpet ſound, Or any ayre of muſicke touch their eares, You ſhall perceiue them make a mutuall ſtand, Their ſauage eyes turn'd to a modeſt gaze, By the ſweet power of muſicke: therefore the Poet Did faine that Orpheus drew trees, ſtones, and floods. Since naught ſo ſtockiſh, hard, and full of rage, But muſicke for time doth change his nature, The man that hath no muſicke in himſelfe, Nor is not moued with concord of ſweet ſounds, Is fit for treaſons, ſtratagems, and ſpoyles, The motions of his ſpirit are dull as night, And his affections darke as Erobus, Let no ſuch man be truſted: marke the muſicke.