Shakespeare, William · published 1622 · first performed or written 1604 [c.1603-1604] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T23 Husbands, wives and jealousy · 483 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T23: wife, husband, cuckold, jealousy, woman, jealous, mistress, love, house, honest.
Pray chuck come hither. What is your pleasure? Let me see your eyes— look in my face. What horrible fancy's this? Some of your function mistress, Leave procreants alone, and shut the door, Cough, or cry 'em, if any body come, Your mystery, your mystery: nay dispatch. Upon my knees, what does your speech import? I understand a fury in your words, But not the words. Why, what art thou? Your wife my Lord, your true and loyal wife. Come, swear it, damn thyself, Lest being like one of heaven, the devils themselves Should fear to cease thee, therefore be double damned. Swear thou art honest. Heaven doth truly know it. Heaven truly knows, that thou art false as hell. To whom, my Lord, with whom? how am I false? O Desdemona, away, away, away. Alas the heavy day, why do you weep? Am I the occasion of those tears my Lord? If haply you my father do suspect. An Instrument of this your calling back, Lay not your blame on me; if you have left him, Why I have left him too. Had it pleased heaven To try me with affliction, had he rammed All kinds of sores, and shames on my bare head. steeped me in pouerty, to the very lips, given to captiuity, me and my hopes, I should have found in some part of my soul A drop of patience; but alas, to make me A fixed figure, for the time of scorn, To point his slow unmoving fingers at— oh, Yet could I bear that too, well, very well. But there: where I have garnered up my heart, Where either I must live, or bear no life, The fountaine, from the which my currant nes, Or else dries up, to be discarded thence, Or keep it as a Cistern, for foul Toads To knot and gender in: tume thy complexion there, Patience thy young and rose-liped Cherubin, I here look grim as Hell. I hope my noble Lord esteems me honest. O I, as summer's flies, are in the shambles, That quicken even with blowing: O thou black weed, why art so lovely fair? Thou smellest so sweet, that the sense aches at thee, Would thou hadst ne'er been borne. Alas, what ignorant sin have I committed? Was this fair paper, this most goodly book, Made to write whore on?— What, committed? Heaven stops the nose at it, and the Moon winks, The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meets, Is hushed within the hollow mine of earth, And will not hear's't:— what committed,- impudent strumpet. By heaven you do me wrong. Are not you a strumpet? No, as I am a Christian: If to preserve this vessel for my Lord, From any hated foul unlawful touch, Be not to be a strumpet, I am none. What, not a whore? No, as I shall be saved. Is't possible?
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)
Pray chucke come hither. What is your pleasure? Let me see your eyes—looke in my face. What horrible fancy's this? Some of your function mistrise, Leaue procrents alone, and shut the dore, Coffe, or cry hem, if any body come, Your mistery, your mistry: nay dispatch. Vpon my knees, what does your speech import? I vnderstand a fury in your words, But not the words. Why, what art thou? Your wife my Lord, your true and loyall wife. Come, sweae it, dam thy selfe, Least being like one of heauen, the diuells themselues Should feare to cease thee, therefore be double dambd. Sweare thou art honest. Heauen doth truely know it. Heauen truely knowes, that thou art false as hell. To whom, my Lord, with whom? how am I false? O Desdemona, away, away, away. Alas the heauy day, why do you weepe? Am I the occasion of those teares my Lord? If haply you my father doe suspect. An Instrument of this your calling backe, Lay not your blame on me; if you haue left him, Why I haue left him too. Had it pleas'd heauen To try me with affliction, had he ram'd All kindes of sores, and shames on my bare head. Seep'd me in pourty, to the very lips, Giun to captiuiy, me and my hopes, I should haue found in some part of my soule A dop of patience; but alas, to make me A fixed figure, for the time of scorne, To point his slow vnmouing fingers at—oh, oh, Yt could I beare that too, well, very well. But there: where I haue garner'd vp my heart, Wher either I must liue, or beare no life, The fountaine, from the which my currant nes, Or else dryes vp, to be discarded thence, Or keepe it as a Cesterne, for foule Toades To knot and gender in: tume thy complexion there, Patience thy young and rose-lip'd Cherubin, I here looke grim as Hell. I hope my noble Lord esteemes me honest. O , as summers flies, are in the shambles, That quicken euen with blowing: O thou blacke wede, why art so louely faire? Thou smell'st so sweete, that the sence akes at thee, Would thou hadst ne're bin borne. Alas, what ignorant sinne haue committed? Was this faire paper, this most goodly booke, Made to write whore on?—What, committed? Heauen stops the nose at it, and the Moone wnkes, The bawdy wind, that kisses all it meetes, Is husht within the hallow mine of earth, And will not hear':— what committed,-impudent strumpet. By heauen you doe me wrong. Are not you a strumpet? No, as I am a Christian: If to preserue this vessell for my Lord, From any hated foule vnlawfull touch, Be nt to be a strumpet, I am none. What, not a whore? No, as I shall be saued. Ist possible?