Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1604 [c.1603-1604] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 475 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
She is Protectress of her honour too: May she give that? Her honour is an Essence that's not seen, They have it very oft, that have it not. But for the Handkerchief. By heaven, I would most gladly have forgot it: Thou saidst (oh, it comes over my memory, As doth the Raven o'er the infectious house: Boding to all) he had my Handkerchief. I: what of that? That's not so good now. What if I had said, I had seen him do you wrong? Or heard him say (as Knaves be such abroad, Who having by their own importunate suit, Or voluntary dotage of some Mistress, Convinced or supplied them cannot choose But they must blab.) Hath he said any thing? He hath (my Lord) but be you well assured, No more than he'll vn-sweare. What hath he said? Why, that he did: I know not what he did. What? What? Lye. With her? With her? On her: what you will. Lie with her? lie on her? We say lie on her, when they be-lye-her. Lie with her: that's fullsome: Handkerchief: Confessions: Handkerchief. To confess, and be hanged for his labour. First, to be hanged, and then to confess: I tremble at it. Nature would not invest herself in such shadowing passion, without some Instruction. It is not words that shakes me thus, (pish) Noses, Ears, and Lips: is't possible. Confess? Handkerchief? O devil. Work on, My Medicine works. Thus credulous Fools are caught, And many worthy, and chaste Dames even thus, (All guiltless) meet reproach: what hoa? My Lord? My Lord, I say: Othello. How now Cassio? What's the matter? My Lord is fall'n into an Epilepsy, This is his second Fit: he had one yesterday. Rub him about the Temples. The Lethargy must have his quiet course: If not, he foams at mouth: and by and by Breaks out to savage madness. Look, he stirs: Do you withdraw yourself a little while, He will recover strait: when he is gone, I would on great occasion, speak with you. How is it General? Have you not hurt your head? Dost thou mock me? I mock you not, by Heaven: Would you would bear your Fortune like a Man. A Horned man's a Monster, and a Beast. there's many a Beast then in a populous City, And many a civil Monster. Did he confess it? Good Sir, be a man: Think every bearded fellow that's but yoked May draw with you. There's Millions now alive, That nightly lie in those unproper beds, Which they dare swear peculiar. Your case is better. Oh, 'tis the spite of hell, the Fiends Arch-mock, To lip a wanton in a secure Couch; And to suppose her chaste. No, let me know, And knowing what I am, I know what she shall be. Oh, thou art wise: 'tis certain.
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)
She is Protectreſſe of her honor too: May ſhe giue that? Her honor is an Eſſence that's not ſeene, They haue it very oft, that haue it not. But for the Handkerchiefe. By heauen, I would moſt gladly haue forgot it: Thou ſaidſt (oh, it comes ore my memorie, As doth the Rauen o're the infectious houſe: Boading to all) he had my Handkerchiefe. I: what of that? That's not ſo good now. What if I had ſaid, I had ſeene him do you wrong? Or heard him ſay (as Knaues be ſuch abroad, Who hauing by their owne importunate ſuit, Or voluntary dotage of ſome Miſtris, Conuinced or ſupply'd them cannot chuſe But they muſt blab.) Hath he ſaid any thing? He hath (my Lord) but be you well aſſur'd, No more then he'le vn-ſweare. What hath he ſaid? Why, that he did: I know not what he did. What? What? Lye. With her? With her? On her: what you will. Lye with her? lye on her? We ſay lye on her, when they be-lye-her. Lye with her: that's fullſome: Handkerchiefe: Confeſſions: Handkerchiefe. To confeſſe, and be hang'd for his labour. Firſt, to be hang'd, and then to confeſſe: I tremble at it. Nature would not inueſt her ſelfe in ſuch ſhadowing paſſion, without ſome Inſtruction. It is not words that ſhakes me thus, (piſh) Noſes, Eares, and Lippes: is't poſſible. Confeſſe? Handkerchiefe? O diuell. Worke on, My Medicine workes. Thus credulous Fooles are caught, And many worthy, and chaſt Dames euen thus, (All guiltleſſe) meete reproach: what hoa? My Lord? My Lord, I ſay: Othello. How now Caſſio? What's the matter? My Lord is falne into an Epilepſie, This is his ſecond Fit: he had one yeſterday. Rub him about the Temples. The Lethargie muſt haue his quyet courſe: If not, he foames at mouth: and by and by Breakes out to ſauage madneſſe. Looke, he ſtirres: Do you withdraw your ſelfe a little while, He will recouer ſtraight: when he is gone, I would on great occaſion, ſpeake with you. How is it Generall? Haue you not hurt your head? Doſt thou mocke me? I mocke you not, by Heauen: Would you would beare your Fortune like a Man. A Horned man's a Monſter, and a Beaſt. Ther's many a Beaſt then in a populous Citty, And many a ciuill Monſter. Did he confeſſe it? Good Sir, be a man: Thinke euery bearded fellow that's but yoak'd May draw with you. There's Millions now aliue, That nightly lye in thoſe vnproper beds, Which they dare ſweare peculiar. Your caſe is better. Oh, 'tis the ſpight of hell, the Fiends Arch-mock, To lip a wanton in a ſecure Cowch; And to ſuppoſe her chaſt. No, let me know, And knowing what I am, I know what ſhe ſhall be. Oh, thou art wiſe: 'tis certaine.