Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1601 [1600-1601] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 504 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
Do not forget: this Visitation Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. But look Amazement on thy Mother fits; O step between her, and her fight Soul, Conceit in weakest bodies, strongest works. Speak to her Hamlet. How is it with you Lady? Alas, how is't with you? That you bend your eye on vacancy, And with their corporal air do hold discourse. Forth at your eyes, your spirits wildly peep, And as the sleeping Soldiers in th' Alarm, Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, Start up, and stand an end. Oh gentle Son, Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? On him, on him: look you how pale he glares, His form and cause conjoined, preaching to stones, Would make them capable. Do not look upon me, Lest with this piteous action you convert My stern effects: than what I have to do, Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood. To who do you speak this? Do you see nothing there? Nothing at all, yet all that is I see. Nor did you nothing hear? No, nothing but ourselves. Why look you there: look how it steals away: My Father in his habit, as he lived, Look where he goes even now out at the Portall. This is the very coinage of your Brain, This bodilesse Creation extasie is very cunning i. Ecstasy? My Pulse as yours doth temperately keep time, And makes as healthful Music. It is not madness That I have uttered; bring me to the Test And I the matter will re-word: which madness Would gambol from. Mother, for love of Grace, Lay not a flattering Unction to your soul, That not your trespass, but my madness speaks: It will but skin and film the Ulcerous place, Whilst rank Corruption mining all within, Infects unseen. Confess yourself to Heaven, Repent what's past, avoid what is to come, And do not spread the Compost or the Weeds, To make them rank. Forgive me this my Virtue, For in the fatness of this pursy times, Virtue itself, of Vice must pardon beg, Yea curb, and woe, for leave to do him good. Oh Hamlet, Thou hast cleft my heart in twain. O throw away the worse part of it, And live the purer with the other halfe. Good night, but go not to mine Uncle's bed, Assume a Virtue, if you have it not, refrain to night, And that shall lend a kind of easiness To the next abstinence. Once more good-night, And when you are desirous to be blessed, I'll blessing beg of you. For this same Lord, I do repent: but heaven hath pleased it so, To punish me with this, and this with me, That I must be their Scourge and Minister. I will bestow him, and will answer well The death I gave him: so again, good night. I must be cruel, only to be kind; Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. What shall I do?
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)
Do not forget: this Viſitation Is but to whet thy almoſt blunted purpoſe. But looke Amazement on thy Mother fits; O ſtep betweene her, and her fighting Soule, Conceit in weakeſt bodies, ſtrongeſt workes. Speake to her Hamlet. How is it with you Lady? Alas, how is't with you? That you bend your eye on vacancie, And with their corporall ayre do hold diſcourſe. Forth at your eyes, your ſpirits wildely peepe, And as the ſleeping Soldiours in th' Alarme, Your bedded haire, like life in excrements, Start vp, and ſtand an end. Oh gentle Sonne, Vpon the heate and flame of thy diſtemper Sprinkle coole patience. Whereon do you looke? On him, on him: look you how pale he glares, His forme and cauſe conioyn'd, preaching to ſtones, Would make them capeable. Do not looke vpon me, Leaſt with this pitteous action you conuert My ſterne effects: then what I haue to do, Will want true colour; teares perchance for blood. To who do you ſpeake this? Do you ſee nothing there? Nothing at all, yet all that is I ſee. Nor did you nothing heare? No, nothing but our ſelues. Why look you there: looke how it ſteals away: My Father in his habite, as he liued, Looke where he goes euen now out at the Portall. This is the very coynage of your Braine, This bodileſſe Creation extaſie is very cunning i. Extaſie? My Pulſe as yours doth temperately keepe time, And makes as healthfull Muſicke. It is not madneſſe That I haue vttered; bring me to the Teſt And I the matter will re-word: which madneſſe Would gamboll from. Mother, for loue of Grace, Lay not a flattering Vnction to your ſoule, That not your treſpaſſe, but my madneſſe ſpeakes: It will but skin and filme the Vlcerous place, Whil'ſt ranke Corruption mining all within, Infects vnſeene. Confeſſe your ſelfe to Heauen, Repent what's paſt, auoyd what is to come, And do not ſpred the Compoſt or the Weedes, To make them ranke. Forgiue me this my Vertue, For in the fatneſſe of this purſie times, Vertue it ſelfe, of Vice muſt pardon begge, Yea courb, and woe, for leaue to do him good. Oh Hamlet, Thou haſt cleft my heart in twaine. O throw away the worſer part of it, And liue the purer with the other halfe. Good night, but go not to mine Vnkles bed, Aſſume a Vertue, if you haue it not, refraine to night, And that ſhall lend a kinde of eaſineſſe To the next abſtinence. Once more goodnight, And when you are deſirous to be bleſt, Ile bleſſing begge of you. For this ſame Lord, I do repent: but heauen hath pleas'd it ſo, To puniſh me with this, and this with me, That I muſt be their Scourge and Miniſter. I will beſtow him, and will anſwer well The death I gaue him: ſo againe, good night▪ I muſt be cruell, onely to be kinde; Thus bad begins, and worſe remaines behinde. What ſhall I do?