Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1605 [1605-1606] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds · 514 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
He that has a house to put's head in, has a good Head-piece: The Codpiece that will house, before the head has any; The Head, and he shall Louse: so Beggars marry many. The man that makes his Toe, what he his Hart should make, Shall of a Corn cry woe, and turn his sleep to wake. For there was never yet fair woman, but she made mouths in a glass. No, I will be the pattern of all patience, I will say nothing. Who's there? Marry here's Grace, and a Codpiece, that's a Wiseman, and a Foole. Alas Sir are you here? Things that love night, Love not such nights as these: The wrathful Skies Gallow the very wanderers of the dark And make them keep their Caves: Since I was man, Such sheets of Fire, such bursts of horrid Thunder, Such groans of roaring Wind, and Rain, I never Remember to have heard. Man's Nature cannot carry Th' affliction, nor the fear. Let the great Gods That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads, Find out their enemies now. Tremble thou Wretch, That hast within thee vndivulged Crimes Vnwhipt of justice. Hide thee, thou Bloody hand; Thou Perjured, and thou Simular of Virtue That art Incestuous. Caitiff, to pieces shake That under covert, and convenient seeming Has practised on man's life. Close pent-up guilts, Rive your concealing Continents, and cry These dreadful Summoners grace. I am a man, More sinned against, then sinning. Alack, bareheaded? Gracious my Lord, hard by here is a Hovel, Some friendship will it lend you 'gainst the Tempest: Repose you there, while I to this hard house, (Moore harder than the stones whereof 'tis raised, Which even but now, demanding after you, Denied me to come in) return, and force Their scanted courtesy. My wits begin to turn. Come on my boy. How dost my boy? Art cold? I am cold myself. Where is this straw, my Fellow? The Art of our Necessities is strange, And can make vild things precious. Come, your Hovel; Poor Fool, and Knave, I have one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee. He that has and a little-tyne wit, With heigh-ho, the Wind and the Rain, Must make content with his Fortunes fit, Though the Rain it raineth every day. True Boy: Come bring us to this Hovel. This is a brave night to cool a Courtesan: I'll speak a Prophecy ere I go: When Priests are more in word, than matter; When Brewers mar their Malt with water; When Nobles are their Tailor's Tutors, No Heretics burned, but wenches Suitors; When every Case in Law, is right; No Squire in debt, nor no poor Knight; When Slanders do not live in Tongues; Nor Cutpurses come not to throngs; When Usurers tell their Gold i' th' Field, And Bawds, and whores, do Churches build, Then shall the Realm of Albion, come to great confusion: Then comes the time, who lives to see't, That going shallbe used with feet. This prophecy Merlin shall make, for I live before his time.
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)
He that has a houſe to put's head in, has a good Head-peece: The Codpiece that will houſe, before the head has any; The Head, and he ſhall Lowſe: ſo Beggers marry many. The man yt makes his Toe, what he his Hart ſhold make, Shall of a Corne cry woe, and turne his ſleepe to wake. For there was neuer yet faire woman, but ſhee made mouthes in a glaſſe. No, I will be the patterne of all patience, I will ſay nothing. Who's there? Marry here's Grace, and a Codpiece, that's a Wiſeman, and a Foole. Alas Sir are you here? Things that loue night, Loue not ſuch nights as theſe: The wrathfull Skies Gallow the very wanderers of the darke And make them keepe their Caues: Since I was man, Such ſheets of Fire, ſuch burſts of horrid Thunder, Such groanes of roaring Winde, and Raine, I neuer Remember to haue heard. Mans Nature cannot carry Th' affliction, nor the feare. Let the great Goddes That keepe this dreadfull pudder o're our heads, Finde out their enemies now. Tremble thou Wretch, That haſt within thee vndivulged Crimes Vnwhipt of Iuſtice. Hide thee, thou Bloudy hand; Thou Periur'd, and thou Simular of Vertue That art Inceſtuous. Caytiffe, to peeces ſhake That vnder couert, and conuenient ſeeming Ha's practis'd on mans life. Cloſe pent-vp guilts, Riue your concealing Continents, and cry Theſe dreadfull Summoners grace. I am a man, More ſinn'd againſt, then ſinning. Alacke, bare-headed? Gracious my Lord, hard by heere is a Houell, Some friendſhip will it lend you 'gainſt the Tempeſt: Repoſe you there, while I to this hard houſe, (More harder then the ſtones whereof 'tis rais'd, Which euen but now, demanding after you, Deny'd me to come in) returne, and force Their ſcanted curteſie. My wits begin to turne. Come on my boy. How doſt my boy? Art cold? I am cold my ſelfe. Where is this ſtraw, my Fellow? The Art of our Neceſſities is ſtrange, And can make vilde things precious. Come, your Houel; Poore Foole, and Knaue, I haue one part in my heart That's ſorry yet for thee. He that has and a little-tyne wit, With heigh-ho, the Winde and the Raine, Muſt make content with his Fort es fit, Though the Raine it raineth euery day. True Boy: Come bring vs to this Houell. This is a braue night to coole a Curtizan: Ile ſpeake a Propheſie ere I go: When Prieſts are more in word, then matter; When Brewers marre their Malt with water; When Nobles are their Taylors Tutors, No Heretiques burn'd, but wenches Sutors; When euery Caſe in Law, is right; No Squire in debt, nor no poore Knight; When Slanders do not liue in Tongues; Nor Cut-purſes come not to throngs; When Vſurers tell their Gold i' th' Field, And Baudes, and whores, do Churches build, Then ſhal the Realme of Albion, come to great confuſion: Then comes the time, who liues to ſee't, That going ſhalbe vs'd with feet. This prophecie Merlin ſhall make, for I liue before his time.