Shakespeare, William · published 1622 · first performed or written 1604 [c.1603-1604] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.77 · 497 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
I would have him nine years a killing; a fine woman, a fair woman, a sweet woman. Nay you must forget. And let her rot and perish, and be damned to night, for she shall not live: no, my heart is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand: O the world has not a sweeter creature, she might lie by an Emperor's side, and command him tasks. Nay that's not your way. Hang her, I do but say what she is: So delicate with her needle, an admirable musician, O she will sing the savageness out of a Bear; of so high and plenteous wit and inuention. she's the worse for all this. A thousand thousand times: and then of so gentle a condition. I, too gentle. I that's certain, but yet the pity of it Iago, the pity. If you be so fond over her iniquity, give her patent to offend, for if it touches not you, it comes near no body. I will chop her into messes— cuckolded me! O 'tis foul in her. With mine Officer. That's fouler. Get me some poison Iago, this night I'll not expostulate with her, lest her body and beauty unprovide my mind again, this night Iago. Do it not with poison, strangle her in her bed, even the bed she hath contaminated. Good, good, the justice of it pleases very good. And for Cassio, let me be his undertaker: you shall hear more by midnight. Excellent good: What Trumpet is that same? Something from Venice sure, 'tis Lodouice, Come from the Duke, and see your wife is with him. God save the worthy General. With all my heart sir. The Duke and Senators of Venice greet you. I kiss the instrument of their pleasures. And what's the news good cousin Lodovico? I am very glad to see you Signior:— welcome to Cypress. I thank you, how does Leiutenant Cassio? Lives sir. Cousin, there's fall'n between him and my Lord, An unkind breach, but you shall make all well. Are you sure of that? My Lord. This fail you not to do, as you will. He did not call, he's busy in the paper: Is there division between thy Lord and Cassio? A most unhappy one, I would do much To atone them, for the love I bear to Cassio. Fire and Brimstone. My Lord. Are you wise? What, is he angry? May be the letter moved him; For as I think, they do command him home, Deputing Cassio in his government. By my troth, I am glad on't. Indeed. My Lord. I am glad to see you mad. How sweet Othello? Devil. I have not deserved this. My Lord, this would not be believed in Venice, Tho I should swear I saw't: 'tis very much, Make her amends, she weeps. O Devil, Devil, If that the earth could teem with women's tears Each drop she falls, would prove a crocodile: Out of my sight.
Blackfriars;Globe;Indoor Professional;Outdoor Professional
Genre (British Drama)
tragedy
Play type
Adult Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 838 · TCP A11992 · DEEP 694
Edition role
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 2109–2168 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 37 of 50 in this edition
Length
497 words · 676 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T0 — Court life: dukes, favour and honourcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.774 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I would haue him nine yeares a killing; a fine woman, a faire woman, a sweete woman. Nay you must forget. And let her rot and perish, and be damb'd to night, for she shall not liue: no, my heart is turn'd to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand: O the world has not a sweeter creature, she might lie by an Emperours side, and command him taskes. Nay that's not your way. Hang her, I doe but say what she is: So delicate with her nedle, an admirable musition, O shee will sing the sauagenesse out of a Beare; of so hye and plentious wit and inution. Shee's the worse for all this. A thousand thousand times: and then of so gentle a condition. I, too gentle. I that's certaine, but yet the pity of it Iago, the pitty. If you be so fond ouer her iniquity, giue her patent to offend, for if it touches not you, it comes neere no body. I will chop her into messes—cuckold me! O tis foule in her. With mine Officer. That's fouler. Get me some poison Iago, this night I'le not expostulate with her, lest her body and beauty vnprouide my minde agen, this night Iago. Doe it not with poison, strangle her in her bed, eun the bed she hath contaminated. Good, good, the iustice of t pleases very good. And for Cassio, let me bee his vndetaker: you shall heare more by midnight. Excellent good: What Trumpet is that same? Something from Venice sure, tis Lodouice, Come from the Duke, and see your wife is with . God saue the worthy Generall. With all my heart sir. The Duke and Senators of Venice greete you. I kisse the instrument of their pleasures. And what's the newes good cousen Lodouico? I am very glad to see you Seignior:—welcome to Cypres. I thanke you, how does Leiutenant Cassio? Liues sir. Cousen, there's falne betweene him and my Lord, An vnkind breach, but you shall make all well. Are you sure of that? My Lord. This faile you not to doe, as you will. He did not call, hee's busie in the paper: Is there diuision betweene thy Lord and Cassio? A most vnhappy one, I would doe much To attone them, for the loue I bea to Cassio. Fire and Brimstone. My Lord. Are you wise? What, is he angry? May be the letter mou'd him; For as I thinke, they doe command him home, Deputing Cassio in his gouernement. By my troth, I am glad on't. Indeed. My Lord. I am glad to see you mad. How sweete Othello? Diuell. I haue not deseru'd this. My Lord, this would not be bleeu'd in Venice, Tho I shud sweare I saw't: tis very much, Make her ame s, she weepes. O Diuell, Diuell, If that the earth could teeme with womens teares Each drop she falls, would proue a Crocale: Out of my sight.