Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1605 [1605-1606] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 515 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
I heard myself proclaimed, And by the happy hollow of a Tree, Escaped the hunt. No Port is free, no place That guard, and most unusall vigilance Does not attend my taking. Whiles I may scape I will preserve myself: and am bethought To take the basest, and most poorest shape That ever penury in contempt of man, Brought near to beast; my face I'll grime with filth, Blanket my loins, else all my hairs in knots, And with presented nakedness outface The Winds, and persecutions of the sky; The Country gives me proof, and precedent Of Bedlam beggars, who with roaring voices, Strike in their numbed and mortified Arms, Pins, Wodden-prickes, Nails, Sprigs of Rosemary: And with this horrible object, from low Farms, Poor pelting Villages, Sheeps-Coates, and Milles, Sometimes with Lunatic bans, sometime with Prayers Enforce their charity: poor Turlygod, poor Tom, That's something yet: Edgar I nothing am. 'Tis strange that they should so departed from home, And not send back my Messengers. As I learned, The night before, there was no purpose in them Of this remove. Hail to thee Noble Master. Ha'? Makest thou this shame thy pastime? No my Lord. Ha, ha', he wears Cruel Garters Horses are tied by the heads, Dogs and Bears by ' th' neck, Monkeys by ' th' loins, and Men by ' th' legs: when a man overlusty at legs, than he wears wooden nether-stocks. What's he, That hath so much thy place mistook To set thee here? It is both he and she, Your Son, and Daughter. No. Yes. No I say. I say yea. By Iupiter I swear no. By Iuno, I swear I They durst not do't: They could not, would not do't: 'tis worse than murder, To do upon respect such violent outrage: Resolve me with all modest haste, which way Thou mightst deserve, or they impose this usage, Coming from us. My Lord, when at their home I did commend your highness' Letters to them, Ere I was risen from the place, that showed My duty kneeling, came there a reeking Post, Stewed in his haste, half breathless, painting forth From Gonerill his Mistress, salutations; Delivered Letters spite of intermission, Which presently they read; on those contents They summoned up their meiney, strait took Horse, Commanded me to follow, and attend The leisure of their answer, gave me cold looks, And meeting here the other Messenger, Whose welcome I perceived had poisoned mine, Being the very fellow which of late Displayed so saucily against your Highness, Having more man than wit about me, drew; He raised the house, with loud and coward cries, Your Son and Daughter found this trespass worth The shame which here it suffers. Winters not gone yet, if the wiled Geese fly that way, Fathers that wear rags, do make their Children blind, But Fathers that bear bags, shall see their children kind. Fortune that arrant whore, ne'er turns the key to th' poor. But for all this thou shalt have as many Dolours for thy Daughters, as thou canst tell in a year.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T30 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I heard my ſelfe proclaim'd, And by the happy hollow of a Tree, Eſcap'd the hunt. No Port is free, no place That guard, and moſt vnuſall vigilance Do's not attend my taking. Whiles I may ſcape I will preſerue myſelfe: and am bethought To take the baſeſt, and moſt pooreſt ſhape That euer penury in contempt of man, Brought neere to beaſt; my face Ile grime with filth, Blanket my loines, elſe all my haires in knots, And with preſented nakedneſſe out-face The Windes, and perſecutions of the skie; The Country giues me proofe, and preſident Of Bedlam beggers, who with roaring voices, Strike in their num'd and mortified Armes, Pins, Wodden-prickes, Nayles, Sprigs of Roſemarie: And with this horrible obiect, from low Farmes, Poore pelting Villages, Sheeps-Coates, and Milles, Sometimes with Lunaticke bans, ſometime with Praiers Inforce their charitie: poore Turlygod, poore Tom, That's ſomething yet: Edgar I nothing am. 'Tis ſtrange that they ſhould ſo depart from home, And not ſend backe my Meſſengers. As I learn'd, The night before, there was no purpoſe in them Of this remoue. Haile to thee Noble Maſter. Ha? Mak'ſt thou this ſhame ahy paſtime? No my Lord. Hah, ha, he weares Cruell Garters Horſes are tide by the heads, Dogges and Beares by' th' necke, Monkies by' th' loynes, and Men by' th' legs: when a man ouerluſtie at legs, then he weares wodden nether-ſtocks. What's he▪ That hath ſo much thy place miſtooke To ſet thee heere? It is both he and ſhe, Your Son, and Daughter. No. Yes. No I ſay. I ſay yea. By Iupiter I ſweare no. By Iuno, I ſweare I. They durſt not do't: They could not, would not do't: 'tis worſe then murther, To do vpon reſpect ſuch violent outrage: Reſolue me with all modeſt haſte, which way Thou might'ſt deſerue, or they impoſe this vſage, Comming from vs. My Lord, when at their home I did commend your Highneſſe Letters to them, Ere I was riſen from the place, that ſhewed My dutie kneeling, came there a reeking Poſte, Stew'd in his haſte, halfe breathleſſe, painting forth From Gonerill his Miſtris, ſalutations; Deliuer'd Letters ſpight of intermiſſion, Which preſently they read; on thoſe contents They ſummon'd vp their meiney, ſtraight tooke Horſe, Commanded me to follow, and attend The leiſure of their anſwer, gaue me cold lookes, And meeting heere the other Meſſenger, Whoſe welcome I perceiu'd had poiſon'd mine, Being the very fellow which of late Diſplaid ſo ſawcily againſt your Highneſſe, Hauing more man then wit about me, drew; He rais'd the houſe, with loud and coward cries, Your Sonne and Daughter found this treſpaſſe worth The ſhame which heere it ſuffers. Winters not gon yet, if the wil'd Geeſe fly that way, Fathers that weare rags, do make their Children blind, But Fathers that beare bags, ſhall ſee their children kind. Fortune that arrant whore, nere turns the key to th' poore. But for all this thou ſhalt haue as many Dolors for thy Daughters, as thou canſt tell in a yeare.