Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1604 [c.1603-1604] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T32 Rings and jewels as tokens · 474 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T32: ring, ti, gave, finger, jewel, lady, lord, love, invisible, away.
Is he not jealous? Who, he? I think the Sun where he was borne, Drew all such humours from him. Look where he comes. I will not leave him now, till Cassio be Called to him. How is't with you, my Lord? Well my good Lady. Oh hardness to dissemble! How do you, Desdemona? Well, my good Lord. Give me your hand. This hand is moist my Lady. It hath felt no age, nor known no sorrow. This argues fruitfulness, and liberal heart: Hot, hot, and moist. This hand of yours requires A sequester from Liberty: Fasting, and Prayer, Much Castigation, Exercise devout, For here's a young, and sweeting Devil here That commonly rebels: 'Tis a good hand, A frank one. You may (indeed) say so: For 'twas that hand that gave away my heart. A liberal hand. The hearts of old, gave hands: But our new Heraldry is hands, not hearts. I cannot speak of this: Come, now your promise. What promise, Chuck? I have sent to bid Cassio come speak with you. I have a salt and sorry Rheum offends me: Lend me thy Handkerchief. here my Lord. That which I gave you. I have it not about me. Not? No indeed, my Lord. That's a fault: That Handkerchief Did an Egyptian to my Mother give: She was a Charmer, and could almost read The thoughts of people. She told her, while she kept it, IT would make her Amiable, and subdue my Father Entirely to her love: But if she lost it, Or made a Gift of it, my Father's eye Should hold her loathed, and his Spirits should hunt After new Fancies. She dying, gave it me, And bid me (when my Fate would have me Wived) To give it her. I did to; and take heed on't, Make it a Darling, like your precious eye: To looseed, or give't away, were such perdition, As nothing else could match. Is't possible? 'Tis true: There's Magic in the web of it: A Sibyl that had numbered in the world The Sun to course, two hundred compasses, In her Prophetticke fury sowed the Work: The Worms were hallowed, that did breed the Silk, And it was dyde in Mummey, which the Skilful Conserved of Maidens hearts. Indeed? Is't true? Most veritable, therefore look too't well. Then would to Heaven, that I had never seen't? Ha'? wherefore? Why do you speak so startingly and rash? Is't lost? Is't gone? Speak, is't out o' th' way? Bless us. Say you? It is not lost: but what and if it were? How? I say it is not lost. Fetched, let me see't. Why so I can: but I will not now: This is a trick to put me from my suit, Pray you let Cassio be received again. Fetch me the Handkerchief, My mind mis-gives.
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)
Is he not iealious? Who, he? I thinke the Sun where he was borne, Drew all ſuch humors from him. Looke where he comes. I will not leaue him now, till Caſſio be Call'd to him. How is't with you, my Lord? Well my good Lady. Oh hardnes to diſſemble! How do you, Deſdemona? Well, my good Lord. Giue me your hand. This hand is moiſt my Lady. It hath felt no age, nor knowne no ſorrow. This argues fruitfulneſſe, and liberall heart: Hot, hot, and moyſt. This hand of yours requires A ſequeſter from Liberty: Faſting, and Prayer, Much Caſtigation, Exerciſe deuout, For heere's a yong, and ſweating Diuell heere That commonly rebels: 'Tis a good hand, A franke one. You may (indeed) ſay ſo: For 'twas that hand that gaue away my heart. A liberall hand. The hearts of old, gaue hands: But our new Heraldry is hands, not hearts. I cannot ſpeake of this: Come, now your promiſe. What promiſe, Chucke? I haue ſent to bid Caſſio come ſpeake with you. I haue a ſalt and ſorry Rhewme offends me: Lend me thy Handkerchiefe. Heere my Lord. That which I gaue you. I haue it not about me. Not? No indeed, my Lord. That's a fault: That Handkerchiefe Did an Aegyptian to my Mother giue: She was a Charmer, and could almoſt read The thoughts of people. She told her, while ſhe kept it, 'T would make her Amiable, and ſubdue my Father Intirely to her loue: But if ſhe loſt it, Or made a Guift of it, my Fathers eye Should hold her loathed, and his Spirits ſhould hunt After new Fancies. She dying, gaue it me, And bid me (when my Fate would haue me Wu'd) To giue it her. I did to; and take heede on't, Make it a Darling, like your precious eye: To looſe't, or giue't away, were ſuch perdition, As nothing elſe could match. Is't poſſible? 'Tis true: There's Magicke in the web of it: A Sybill that had numbred in the world The Sun to courſe, two hundred compaſſes, In her Prophetticke furie ſow'd the Worke: The Wormes were hallowed, that did breede the Silke, And it was dyde in Mummey, which the Skilfull Conſeru'd of Maidens hearts. Indeed? Is't true? Moſt veritable, therefore looke too't well. Then would to Heauen, that I had neuer ſeene't? Ha? wherefore? Why do you ſpeake ſo ſtartingly and raſh? Is't loſt? Is't gon? Speak, is't out o' th' way? Bleſſe vs. Say you? It is not loſt: but what and if it were? How? I ſay it is not loſt. Fetcht, let me ſee't. Why ſo I can: but I will not now: This is a tricke to put me from my ſuite, Pray you let Caſſio be receiu'd againe. Fetch me the Handkerchiefe, My minde miſ-giues.