Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1604 [c.1603-1604] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T23 Husbands, wives and jealousy · 478 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T23: wife, husband, cuckold, jealousy, woman, jealous, mistress, love, house, honest.
So hangs, and lolls, and weeps upon me: So shakes, and pulls me. Ha', ha', ha'. Now he tells how she plucked him to my Chamber: oh, I see that nose of yours, but not that dog, I shall throw it to. Well, I must leave her company. Before me: look where she comes. 'Tis such another Fitchow: marry a perfumed one? What do you mean by this haunting of me? Let the devil, and his dam haunt you: what did you mean by that same Handkerchief, you gave me even now? I was a fine Fool to take it: I must take out the work? A likely piece of work, that you should find it in your Chamber, and know not who left it there. This is some Minxes token, & I must take out the work? There, give it your Hobbey-horse, wheresoever you had it, I'll take out no work on't. How now, my sweet Bianca? How now? How now? By Heaven, that should be my Handkerchief. If you'll come to supper to night you may, if you will not, come when you are next prepared for. After her: after her. I must, she'll rail in the streets else. Will you sup there? Yes, I intent so. Well, I may chance to see you: for I would very fame speak with you. Prithee come: will you? Go too: say no more. How shall I murder him, Iago. Did you perceive how he laughed at his vice? Oh, Iago. And did you see the Handkerchief? Was that mine? Yours by this hand: and to see how he prizes the foolish woman your wife: she gave it him, and he hath given it his whore. I would have him nine years a killing: A fine woman, a fair woman, a sweet woman? Nay, you must forget that. I, let her rot and perish, and be damned to night, for she shall not live. No, my heart is turned to stone: I strike it, and it hurts my hand. Oh, the world hath not a sweeter Creature: she might lie by an Emperor's side, and command him Tasks. Nay, that's not your way. Hang her, I do but say what she is: so delicate with her Needle: an admirable Musician. Oh she will sing the Savageness out of a Bear: of so high and plenteous wit, and invention? She's the worse for all this. Oh, a thousand, a thousand times: And then of so gentle a condition? I too gentle. Nay that's certain: But yet the pity of it, Iago: oh Iago, the pity of it Iago. If you are so fond over her iniquity: give her patent to offend, for if it touch not you, it comes near no body. I will chop her into Messes: Cuckold me? Oh, 'tis foul in her. With mine Officer? That's fouler.
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)
So hangs, and lolls, and weepes vpon me: So ſhakes, and pulls me. Ha, ha, ha. Now he tells how ſhe pluckt him to my Chamber: oh, I ſee that noſe of yours, but not that dogge, I ſhall throw it to. Well, I muſt leaue her companie. Before me: looke where ſhe comes. 'Tis ſuch another Fitchew: marry a perfum'd one? What do you meane by this haunting of me? Let the diuell, and his dam haunt you: what did you meane by that ſame Handkerchiefe, you gaue me euen now? I was a fine Foole to take it: I muſt take out the worke? A likely piece of worke, that you ſhould finde it in your Chamber, and know not who left it there. This is ſome Minxes token, & I muſt take out the work? There, giue it your Hobbey-horſe, whereſoeuer you had it, Ile take out no worke on't. How now, my ſweete Bianca? How now? How now? By Heauen, that ſhould be my Handkerchiefe. If you'le come to ſupper to night you may, if you will not, come when you are next prepar'd for. After her: after her. I muſt, ſhee'l rayle in the ſtreets elſe. Will you ſup there? Yes, I intend ſo. Well, I may chance to ſee you: for I would very fame ſpeake with you. Prythee come: will you? Go too: ſay no more. How ſhall I murther him, Iago. Did you perceiue how he laugh'd at his vice? Oh, Iago. And did you ſee the Handkerchiefe? Was that mine? Yours by this hand: and to ſee how he prizes the fooliſh woman your wife: ſhe gaue it him, and he hath giu'n it his whore. I would haue him nine yeeres a killing: A fine woman, a faire woman, a ſweete woman? Nay, you muſt forget that. I, let her ot and periſh, and be damn'd to night, for ſhe ſhall not liue. No, my heart is turn'd to ſtone: I ſtrike it, and it hurts my hand. Oh, the world hath not a ſweeter Creature: ſhe might lye by an Emperours ſide, and command him Taskes. Nay, that's not your way. Hang her, I do but ſay what ſhe is: ſo delicate with her Needle: an admirable Muſitian. Oh ſhe will ſing the Sauageneſſe out of a Beare: of ſo high and plenteous wit, and inuention? She's the worſe for all this. Oh, a thouſand, a thouſand times: And the of ſo gentle a condition? I too gentle. Nay that's certaine: But yet the pitty of it, Iago: oh Iago, the pitty of it Iago. If you are ſo fond ouer her iniquitie: giue her pattent to offend, for if it touch not you, it comes neere no body. I will chop her into Meſſes: Cuckold me? Oh, 'tis foule in her. With mine Officer? That's fouler.