Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1601 [1600-1601] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T28 Marriage-making: weddings, brides and ma · 488 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T28: married, marriage, wedding, day, bride, father, wife, luce, love, husband.
What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue, In noise so rude against me? Such an Act That blurs the grace and blush of Modesty, Calls Virtue Hypocrite, takes off the Rose From the fair forehead of an innocent love, And makes a blister there. Makes marriage vows As false as Dicers Oaths. Oh such a deed, As from the body of Contraction plucks The very soul, and sweet Religion makes A rapsidie of words. Heaven's face doth glow, Yea this solidity and compound mass, With tristfull visage as against the doom, Is thought-sicke at the act. Ay me; what act, that roars so loud, & thunders in the Index. Look here upon this Picture, and on this, The counterfeit presentment of two Brothers: See what a grace was seated on his Brow, Hyperions curls, the front of Ioue himself, An eye like Mars, to threaten or command A Station, like the Herald Mercury New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill: A Combination, and a form indeed, Where every God did seem to set his Seal, To give the world assurance of a man. This was your Husband. Look you now what follows. here is your Husband, like a Mildew'd ear Blasting his wholesome breath. Have you eyes? Can you on this fair Mountain leave to feed, And batten on this Moor? Ha'? Have you eyes? You cannot call it Love: For at your age, The heyday in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waits upon the judgement: and what judgement Would step from this, to this? What devil was't, That thus hath cozened you at hoodman-blinde? O Shame! where is thy Blush? Rebellious Hell, If thou canst mutiny in a Matron's bones, To flaming youth, let Virtue be as wax, And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame, When the compulsive Ardure gives the charge, Since Frost itself, as actively doth burn, As Reason panders Will. O Hamlet, speak no more. Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul, And there I see such black and grained spots, As will not leave their Tinct. Nay, but to live In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed, Stewed in Corruption; honying and making love Over the nasty Sty. Oh speak to me, no more, These words like Daggers enter in mine ears. No more sweet Hamlet. A Murderer, and a Villain: A Slave, that is not twentieth part the tithe Of your precedent Lord. A vice of Kings, A Cutpurse of the Empire and the Rule. That from a shelf, the precious Diadem stole, And put it in his Pocket. No more. A King of shreds and patches. Save me; and hover o'er me with your wings You heavenly Guards. What would you gracious figure? Alas he's mad. Do you not come your tardy Son to chide, That lapsed in Time and Passion, let's go by Th' important acting of your dread command? Oh say.
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)
What haue I done, that thou dar'ſt wag thy tong, In noiſe ſo rude againſt me? Such an Act That blurres the grace and bluſh of Modeſtie, Cals Vertue Hypocrite, takes off the Roſe From the faire forehead of an innocent loue, And makes a bliſter there. Makes marriage vowes As falſe as Dicers Oathes. Oh ſuch a deed, As from the body of Contraction pluckes The very ſoule, and ſweete Religion makes A rapſidie of words. Heauens face doth glow, Yea this ſolidity and compound maſſe, With triſtfull viſage as againſt the doome, Is thought-ſicke at the act. Aye me; what act, that roares ſo lowd, & thunders in the Index. Looke heere vpon this Picture, and on this, The counterfet preſentment of two Brothers: See what a grace was ſeated on his Brow, Hyperions curles, the front of Ioue himſelfe, An eye like Mars, to threaten or command A Station, like the Herald Mercurie New lighted on a heauen-kiſſing hill: A Combination, and a forme indeed, Where euery God did ſeeme to ſet his Seale, To giue the world aſſurance of a man. This was your Husband. Looke you now what followes. Heere is your Husband, like a Mildew'd eare Blaſting his wholſom breath. Haue you eyes? Could you on this faire Mountaine leaue to feed, And batten on this Moore? Ha? Haue you eyes? You cannot call it Loue: For at your age, The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble, And waites vpon the Iudgement: and what Iudgement Would ſtep from this, to this? What diuell was't, That thus hath couſend you at hoodman-blinde? O Shame! where is thy Bluſh? Rebellious Hell, If thou canſt mutine in a Matrons bones, To flaming youth, let Vertue be as waxe, And melt in her owne fire. Proclaime no ſhame, When the compulſiue Ardure giues the charge, Since Froſt it ſelfe, as actiuely doth burne, As Reaſon panders Will. O Hamlet, ſpeake no more. Thou turn'ſt mine eyes into my very ſoule, And there I ſee ſuch blacke and grained ſpots, As will not leaue their Tinct. Nay, but to liue In the ranke ſweat of an enſeamed bed, Stew'd in Corruption; honying and making loue Ouer the naſty Stye. Oh ſpeake to me, no more, Theſe words like Daggers enter in mine eares. No more ſweet Hamlet. A Murderer, and a Villaine: A Slaue, that is not twentieth part the tythe Of your precedent Lord. A vice of Kings, A Cutpurſe of the Empire and the Rule. That from a ſhelfe▪ the precious Diadem ſtole, And put it in his Pocket. No more. A King of ſhreds and patches. Saue me; and houer o're me with your wings You heauenly Guards. What would you gracious figure? Alas he's mad. Do you not come your tardy Sonne to chide, That laps't in Time and Paſſion, lets go by Th' important acting of your dread command? Oh ſay.