Shakespeare, William · published 1608 · first performed or written 1605 [1605-1606] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · before the Court unassigned nearest T46 Swords, quarrels and valour · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T46: rapier, sword, fight, gentlemen, gentleman, kicked, kill, dagger, signor, valour.
Weapons, arms, what's the matter here? Keep peace upon your lives, he dies that strikes again, what's the matter? The messengers from our sister, and the King. What's your difference, speak? I am scarce in breath my Lord. No marvel you have so bestirred your valour, you cowardly rascal, nature disclaims in thee, a Tailor made thee. Thou art a strange fellow, a Tailor make a man. I, a Tailor sir; a Stone-cutter, or a Painter could not have made him so ill, though he had been but two hours at the trade. Speak yet, how grew your quarrel? This ancient ruffian sir, whose life I have spared at suit of his graybeard. Thou whoreson Zedd, thou unnecessary letter, my Lord if you'll give me leave, I will tread this unboulted villain into mortar, and daub the walls of a iaques with him, spare my grey beard you wagtail. Peace sir, you beastly Knave you have no reverence. Yes sir, but anger has a privilege. Why art thou angry? That such a slave as this should wear a sword, That wears no honesty, such smiling rogues as these, Like Rats oft bite those cords in twain, Which are to entrench, to inloose smooth every passion That in the natures of their Lords rebel, Bring oil to stir, snow to their colder-moods, Reneag affirm, and turn their halcyon beaks With every gale and vary of their masters, Knowing nought like days but following, a plague upon your epeliptick Visage, smoyle you my speeches, as I were a fool? Goose and I had you upon Sarum plain, Id'e send you cackling home to Camulet., What art thou mad old fellow? How fell you out, say that? No contraries hold more, antipathy, Then I and such a knave. Why dost thou call him knave, what's his offence. His countenance likes me not. No more perchance does mine, or his, or hers. Sir 'tis my occupation to be plain, I have seen better faces in my time That stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant. This is a fellow who having been praised For bluntness doth affect a saucy ruffians, And constrains the garb quite from his nature, He cannot flatter he, he must be plain, He must speak truth, and they will take't so, If not he's plain, these kind of knaves I know Which in this plainness harbour more craft, And more corrupter ends, than twenty silly ducking Observants, that stretch their duties nisely. Sir in good sooth, or in sincere verity, Under the allowance of your grand aspect. Whose influence like the wreath of radiant fire In flitkering Phoebus' front. What meanest thou by this? To go out of my dialogue which you discommend so much, I know sir, I am no flatterer, he that beguiled you in a plain accent, was a plain knave, which for my part I will not be, though I should win your displeasure, to entreat me to't.
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)
Weapons, armes, whats the matter here? Keepe peace vpon your liues, hee dies that strikes againe, what's the matter? The messengers from our sister, and the King. Whats your difference, speake? I am scarse in breath my Lord. No maruaile you haue so bestir'd your valour, you cowardly rascall, nature disclaimes in thee, a Tayler made thee. Thou art a strange fellow, a Taylor make a man. I, a Tayler sir; a Stone-cutter, or a Painter could not haue made him so ill, though hee had beene but two houres at the trade. Speake yet, how grew your quarrell? This ancient ruffen sir, whose life I haue spar'd at sute of his gray-beard. Thou whorson Zedd, thou vnnecessarie letter, my Lord if you'l giue mee leaue, I will tread this vnboulted villaine into morter, and daube the walles of a iaques with him, spare my gray beard you wagtayle. Peace sir, you beastly Knaue you haue no reuerence. Yes sir, but anger has a priuiledge. Why art thou angry? That such a slaue as this should weare a sword, That weares no honesty, such smiling roges as these, Like Rats oft bite those cordes in twaine, Which are to intrench, to inloose smooth euery passion That in the natures of their Lords rebell, Bring oyle to stir, snow to their colder-moods, Reneag affirme, and turne their halcion beakes With euery gale and varie of their maisters, Knowing nought like dayes but following, a plague vpon your epeliptick Visage, smoyle you my speeches, as I were a foole? Goose and I had you vpon Sarum plaine, Id'e send you cackling home to Camulet., What art thou mad old fellow? How fell you out, say that? No contraries hold more, antipathy, Then I and such a knaue. Why dost thou call him knaue, what's his offence. His countenance likes me not. No more perchance does mine, or his, or hers. Sir tis my occupation to be plaine, I haue seene better faces in my time That stands on any shoulder that I see Before me at this instant. This is a fellow who hauing beene praysd For bluntnes doth affect a sawcy ruffines, And constraines the garb quite from his nature, He cannot flatter he, he must be plaine, He must speake truth, and they will tak't so, If not he's plaine, these kind of knaues I know Which in this plainnes harbour more craft, And more corrupter ends, then twentie silly ducking Obseruants, that stretch their duties nisely. Sir in good sooth, or in sincere veritie, Vnder the allowance of your graund aspect. Whose influence like the wreath of radient fire In flitkering Phoebus front. What mean'st thou by this? To goe out of my dialogue which you discommend so much, I know sir, I am no flatterer, he that beguild you in a plain accent, was a plaine knaue, which for my part I will not bee, though I should win your displeasure, to intreat mee too't.