Shakespeare, William · published 1622 · first performed or written 1604 [c.1603-1604] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.81 · 491 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
I do beseech you I may speak with you,- good my Lord. I had forgot thee: O come in Emillia. Soft, by and by; let me the Curtains draw, Where art thou? what's the matter with thee now? O my good Lord, yonder's foul murders done. What, now? But now my Lord. It is the very error of the Moon, She comes more near the earth, than she was wont, And makes men mad. Cassio my Lord has killed a young Venetian, Called Roderigo. Roderigo killed, and Cassio killed? No, Cassio is not killed. Not Cassio killed, then murders out of tune, And sweet revenge grows harsh. O falsely, falsely murdered. O Lord, what cry is that? That? what? Out and alas, it is my Lady's voice. Help, help, ho help, O Lady speak again, Sweet Desdemona, O sweet Mistress speak. A guiltless death I die. O who has done this deed? No body, I myself, farewell: Commend me to my kind Lord, O farewell. Why, how should she be murdered? Alas, who knows? You heard her say, herself, it was not I. She said so, I must needs report a truth. She's like a liar, gone to burning Hell, 'T was I that killed her. O, the more Angel she, And you the blacker devil. She turned to folly, and she was a whore. Thou dost belly her, and thou art a devil. She was false as water. Thou as rash as fire, To say that she was false: O she was heavenly true. Cassio did top her, ask thy husband else, O I were damned beneath all depth in hell, But that I did proceed, upon just grounds, To this extremity, thy husband knew it all. My husband? Thy husband. That she was false to wedlock? I, with Cassio: nay, had she been true, If heaven would make me such another world, Of one entire and perfect Crisolite, I'd not have sold her for it. My husband? I, 'twas he that told me first, An honest man he is, and hates the slime, That sticks on filthy deeds. My husband? What needs this iteration? woman, I say thy husband. If he say so, may his pernicious soul. Rot halfe a grain a day: he lies toth' heart, She was too fond of her most filthy bargain. Ha'? Do thy worst, This deed of thine is no more worthy heaven, Than thou wast worthy her. Peace, you were best. Thou hast not half the power to do me harm, As I have to be hurt: O gull, O dolt, As ignorant as dirtt; thou hast done a deed— I care not for thy sword, I'll make thee know, Tho I lost twenty lives: help, help, O help; The Moor has killed my Mistress, murder, murder. What is the matter? how now General? O, are you come Iago? you have done well, That men must lay their murder on your neck.
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 2725–2797 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 47 of 50 in this edition
Length
491 words · 671 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.812 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I doe beseech you I may speake with you,-good my Lord. I had forgot thee: O come in Emillia. Soft, by and by; let me the Curtaines draw, Where art thou? whats the matter with thee now? O y good Lord, yonder's foule murders done. What, now? But now my Lord. It is the very error of the Moone, She comes more neere the earth, then she was wont, And makes men mad. Cassio my Lord has kil'd a yong Venetian, Cal'd Roderigo. Roderigo kild, and Cassio kild? No, Cassio is not kild. Not Cassio kild, then murders out of tune, And sweete reuenge growes harsh. O falsly, falsly murdered. O Lord, what cry is that? That? what? Out and alas, it is my Ladyes voy ▪ Helpe, helpe, ho helpe, O Lady speake againe, Sweete Desdemona, O sweete Mistresse speake. A guiltlesse death I die. O who has done this deed? No body, I my selfe, farewell: Commend me to my kinde Lord, O farewell. Why, how should she be murdered? Alas, who knowes? You heard her say, her selfe, it was not I. She sayd so, I must needes report a truth. She's like a lyer, gone to burning Hell, T was I that kild her. O, the more Angell she, And you the blacker diuell. She turn'd to folly, and she was a whore. Thou doest bely her, and thou art a diuell. She was false as water. Thou as rash as fire, To say that she was false: O she was heauenly true. Cassio did top her, aske thy husband else, O I were damn'd beneath all depth in hell, But that I did proceed, vpon iust grounds, To this extremity, thy husband knew it all. My husband? Thy husband. That she was false to wedlocke? I, with Cassio: nay, had she bin true, If heauen would make me such another world, Of one intire and perfect Crisolite, I'de not haue sold her for it. My husband? I, twas he that told me first, An honest man he is, and hates the slime, That sticks on filthy deedes. My husband? What needes this ieration? woman, I say thy husband. If he say so, may his pernitious soule. Rot halfe a graine a day: he lies to'th heart, She was too fond of her most filthy bargaine. Ha? Doe thy worst, This deed of thine is no more worthy heauen, Then thou wast worthy her. Peace, you were best. Thou hast not halfe the power to doe me harme, As I haue to be hurt: O gull, O dolt, As ignorant as dirtt; thou hast done a deed— I care not for thy sword, I'le make thee know, Tho I lost twenty liues: helpe, helpe, O helpe; The Moore has kild my Mistresse, murder, murder. What is the matter? how now Generall? O, are you come Iago? you haue done well, That men must lay their murder on your neck.