Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1604 [c.1603-1604] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T47 Knaves, thieves and bawds · 522 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T47: knave, rogue, money, knaves, thief, rogues, pray, whore, nichol, book.
I: if you dare do yourself a profit, and a right. He sups to night with a Harlotry: and thither will I go to him. He knows not yet of his Honourable Fortune, if you will watch his going thence (which I will fashion to fall out between twelve and one) you may take him at your pleasure. I will be near to second your Attempt, and he shall fall between us. Come, stand not amazed at it, but go along with me: I will show you such a necessity in his death, that you shall think yourself bound to put it on him. It is now high supper time: and the night grows to waste. About it. I will hear further reason for this. And you shallbe satisfied. I do beseech you Sir, trouble yourself no further. Oh pardon me: 'twill do me good to walk. Madam, good night: I humbly thank your Ladyship. Your Honour is most welcome. Will you walk Sir? Oh Desdemona. My Lord. Get you to bed on th' instant, I will be returned forth with: dismiss your Attendant there: looked be done. I will my Lord. How goes it now? He looks gentler than he did. He says he will return incontinent, And hath commanded me to go to bed, And bid me to dismiss you. Dismiss me? It was his bidding: therefore good Aemilia, Give me my nightly wearing, and adieu. We must not now displease him. I, would you had never seen him. So would not I: my love doth so approve him, That even his stubborness, his checks, his frowns, (Prithee un-pin me) have grace and favour. I have laid those Sheets you bade me on the bed. All's one: good Father, how foolish are our minds? If I do die before, prithee shroud me In one of these same Sheets. Come, come: you talk. My Mother had a Maid called Barbary, She was in love: and he she loved proved mad, And did forsake her. She had a Song of Willough, An old thing 'twas: but it expressed her Fortune, And she died singing it. That Song to night, Will not go from my mind: I have much to do, But to go hang my head all at one side And sing it like poor Brabarie: prithee dispatch. Shall I go fetch your Nightgown? No, vnpin me here, This Lodovico is a proper man. A very handsome man. He speaks well. I know a Lady in Venice would have walked barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip. The poor Soul sat singing, by a Sicamour tree. Sing all a green Willough: Her hand on her bosom her head on her knee, Sing Willough, Willough, Willough. The fresh Streams ran by her, and murmured her moans Sing Willough, etc. Her salt tears fell from her, and softened the stones, Sing Willough, etc. (Lay by these) Willough, Willough. (Prithee high thee: he'll come anon) Sing all a green Willough must be my Garland. Let no body blame him, his scorn I approve. (Nay that's not next. Hark, who is't that knocks?
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)
I: if you dare do your ſelfe a profit, and a right. He ſups to night with a Harlotry: and thither will I go to him. He knowes not yet of his Honourable Fortune, if you will watch his going thence (which I will faſhion to fall out betweene twelue and one) you may take him at your pleaſure. I will be neere to ſecond your Attempt, and he ſhall fall betweene vs. Come, ſtand not amaz'd at it, but go along with me: I will ſhew you ſuch a neceſſitie in his death, that you ſhall thinke your ſelfe bound to put it on him. It is now high ſupper time: and the night growes to waſt. About it. I will heare further reaſon for this. And you ſhalbe ſatisfi'd. I do beſeech you Sir, trouble your ſelfe no further. Oh pardon me: 'twill do me good to walke. Madam, good night: I humbly thanke your Ladyſhip. Your Honour is moſt welcome. Will you walke Sir? Oh Deſdemona. My Lord. Get you to bed on th' inſtant, I will be return'd forth with: diſmiſſe your Attendant there: look't be done. I will my Lord. How goes it now? He lookes gentler then he did. He ſaies he will returne incontinent, And hath commanded me to go to bed, And bid me to diſmiſſe you. Diſmiſſe me? It was his bidding: therefore good Aemilia, Giue me my nightly wearing▪ and adieu. We muſt not now diſpleaſe him. I, would you had neuer ſeene him. So would not I: my loue doth ſo approue him, That euen his ſtubborneſſe, his checks, his frownes, (Prythee vn-pin me) haue grace and fauour. I haue laid thoſe Sheetes you bad me on the bed. All's one: good Father, how fooliſh are our minds? If I do die before, prythee ſhrow'd me In one of theſe ſame Sheetes. Come, come: you talke. My Mother had a Maid call'd Barbarie, She was in loue: and he ſhe lou'd prou'd mad, And did forſake her. She had a Song of Willough, An old thing 'twas: but it expreſs'd her Fortune, And ſhe dy'd ſinging it. That Song to night, Will not go from my mind: I haue much to do, But to go hang my head all at one ſide And ſing it like poore Brabarie: prythee diſpatch. Shall I go fetch your Night-gowne? No▪ va-pin me here, This Lodouico is a proper man. A very handſome man. He ſpeakes well. I know a Lady in Venice would haue walk'd barefoot to Paleſtine for a touch of his nether lip. The poore Soule ſat ſinging, by a Sicamour tree. Sing all a greene Willough: Her hand on her boſome her head on her knee, Sing Willough, Willough, Willough. The freſh Streames ran by her, and murmur'd her moanes Sing Willough, &c. Her ſalt teares fell from her, and ſoftned the ſtones, Sing Willough, &c. (Lay by theſe) Willough, Willough. (Prythee high thee: he'le come anon) Sing all a greene Willough muſt be my Garland. Let no body blame him, his ſcorne I approue. (Nay that's not next. Harke, who is't that knocks?