Shakespeare, William · published 1622 · first performed or written 1604 [c.1603-1604] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men · Blackfriars unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 479 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
he's gone, but his wife's killed. 'tis a notorious villain, take your weapon, Which I have here recovered from the Moor: Come, guard the door without, let him not pass, But kill him rather, I'll after that same villain, For 'tis a damned slave. I am not valiant neither, But every puny whipster gets my sword, But why should honour out live honesty? Let it go all. Moor, she was chaste, she loved thee cruel Moor, So come my soul to bliss, as I speak true; So speaking as I think, I die, I die. I have another weapon in this chamber, It is a sword of Spain, the Ice brooks temper; O here it is; Uncle I must come forth. If thou attempt it, it will cost thee decree, Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer. Look in upon me then, and speak to me, Or naked as I am, I will assault thee. What is the matter? Behold, I have a weapon, A better never did itself sustain Upon a Soldier's thigh: I have seen the day, That with this little arm, and this good sword, I have made my way through more impediments, Then twenty times you stop: but O vain boast, Who can control his Fate? 'tis not so now, Pale as thy smock, when we shall meet at count, This look of thine, will hurl my soul from heaven, And fiends will snatch at it: cold, cold my girl, Even like thy chastity; O cursed slave: Whip me you Devils, From the possession of this heavenly sight, Blow me about in winds, roast me in sulphur, Wash me in sleepe down gulfs of liquid fire: O Desdemona, Desdemova, dead, O, o, o. Where is this rash and most infortunate man. That'S's he that was Othello, here I am. Where is this Viper, bring the villain forth. I looke down towards his feet, but that's a fable If thou beest a devil, I cannot kill thee. Wring his sword from him. I bleed sir, but not killed. I am not sorry neither, I'd have thee live, For in my sense 'tis happiness to die. O thou Othello, that wert once so good, Fallen in the practice of a damned slave, What should be said to thee? Why any thing, An honourable murderer if you will: For nought did I in hate, but all in honour. This wretch hath part confessed his villainy: Did you and he consent in Cassio's death? I. Dear General, I did never give you cause. I do believe it, and I ask you pardon, Will you pray, demand that demi devil, Why he hath thus ensnared my soul and body? Demand me nothing, what you know you know, From this time forth I never will speak word. What not to pray? Torments will op'e your lips. Well, thou dost best.
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)
Hee's gone, but his wife's kild. Tis a notorious villaine, take your weapon, Which I haue here recouered from the Moore: Come, guard the dore without, let him not passe, But kill him rather, I'le after that same villaine, For tis a damned slaue. I am not valiant neither, But euery puny whipster gets my sword, But why should honour out liue honesty? Let it goe all. Moore, she was chast, she lou'd thoe cruell Moore, So come my soule to blisse, as I speake true; So speaking as I thinke, I die, I die. I haue another weapon in this chamber, It is a sword of Spaine, the Ise brookes temper; O here it is; Vncle I must come forth. If thou attempt it, it will cost thee decre, Thou hast no weapon, and perforce must suffer. Looke in vpon me then, and speake to me, Or naked as I am, I will assault thee. What is the matter? Behold, I haue a weapon, A better neuer did it selfe sustaine Vpon a Souldiers thigh: I haue seene the day, That with this little arme, and this good sword, I haue made my way through more impediments, Then twenty times you stop: but O vaine boast, Who can controule his Fate? tis not so now, Pale as thy smoke, when we shall meet at count, This looke of thine, will hurle my soule from heauen, And iends will snatch at it: cold, cold my girle, Euen like thy chastity; O cursed slaue: Whippe me you Diuells, From the possession of this heauenly sight, Blow me about in winds, roast me in sulphur, Wash me in seepe downe gulphes of liquid fire: O Desemona, Desdemoua, dead, O, o, o. Where is this rash and most infortunate man. Tha's he that was Othello, here I am. Where is this Viper, bring the villaine forth. I lke downe towards his feet, but that's a fable If thu bees a diuell, I cannot kill thee. Wring his sword from him. I bled sir, but not kil'd. I am not sorry neither, I'de haue thee liue, For in my sense tis happinesse to die. O thou Othello, that wert once so good, Falne in the practise of a damned slaue, What should be said to thee? Why any thing, An honourable murderer if you will: For nought did I in hate, but all in honour. This wretch hath part confest his villainy: Did you and he conent in Cassio's death? I. Deare Generall, I did neuer giue you cause. I doe beleeue it, and I aske you pardon, Will you ay, dand that demy diuell, Why he hath thus inar'd my soule and body? Dmand me nothing, what you know you know, From this time forth I neuer will speake word. What not to pray? Torments will op'e your lips. Well, thou doest best.