Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1603 [1603-1604] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T10 England and France: war, embassy and pea · 485 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
I Madam. And to be a soldier. Such is his noble purpose, and believe't The Duke will lay upon him all the honour That good convenience claims. Return you thither. I Madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France, 'Tis bitter. Find you that there? I Madame. 'Tis but the boldness of his hand haply, which his heart was not consenting too. Nothing in France, until he have no wife: There's nothing here that is too good for him But only she, and she deserves a Lord That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, And call her hourly Mistress. Who was with him? A servant only, and a Gentleman: which I have sometime known. Parolles was it not? I my good Lady, he. A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness, My son corrupts a well derived nature With his inducement. Indeed good Lady the fellow has a deal of that, too much, which holds him much to have. YE are welcome Gentlemen, I will entreat you when you see my son, to tell him that his sword can never win the honour that he loses: more I'll entreat you written to bear along. We serve you Madam in that and all your worthiest affairs. Not so, but as we change our courtesies, Will you draw near? Till I have no wife I have nothing in France. Nothing in France until he has no wife: Thou shalt have none Rossillion, none in France, Then hast thou all again: poor Lord, is't I That chase thee from thy Country, and expose Those tender limbs of thine, to the event Of the none-sparing war? And is it I, That drive thee from the sportive Court, where thou Was't shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark Of smoky Musket's? O you leaden messengers, That ride upon the violent speed of fire, Fly with false aim, move the still-peering air That sings with piercing, do not touch my Lord: Who ever shoots at him, I set him there. Who ever charges on his forward breast I am the Caitiff that do hold him too't, And though I kill him not, I am the cause His death was so effected: Better 'twere I met the ravin Lion when he roared With sharp constraint of hunger: better 'twere, That all the miseries which nature owes Were mine at once. No come thou home Rossillion, Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, As oft it loses all. I will be gone: My being here it is, that holds thee hence, Shall I stay here to do't? No, no, although The air of Paradise did fan the house, And Angles officed all: I will be gone, That pitiful rumour may report my flight To consolate thine ear. Come night, end day, For with the dark (poor thief) I'll steal away.
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 Madam. And to be a ſouldier. Such is his noble purpoſe, and beleeu't The Duke will lay vpon him all the honor That good conuenience claimes. Returne you thither. I Madam, with the ſwifteſt wing of ſpeed. Till I haue no wife, I haue nothing in France, 'Tis bitter. Finde you that there? I Madame. 'Tis but the boldneſſe of his hand haply, which his heart was not conſenting too. Nothing in France, vntill he haue no wife: There's nothing heere that is too good for him But onely ſhe, and ſhe deſerues a Lord That twenty ſuch rude boyes might tend vpon, And call her hourely Miſtris. Who was with him? A ſeruant onely, and a Gentleman: whlch I haue ſometime knowne. Parolles was it not? I my good Ladie, hee. A verie tainted fellow, and full of wickedneſſe, My ſonne corrupts a well deriued nature With his inducement. Indeed good Ladie the fellow has a deale of that, too much, which holds him much to haue. Y' are welcome Gentlemen, I will intreate you when you ſee my ſonne, to tell him that his ſword can neuer winne the honor that he looſes: more Ile intreate you written to beare along. We ſerue you Madam in that and all your worthieſt affaires. Not ſo, but as we change our courteſies, Will you draw neere? Till I haue no wife I haue nothing in France. Nothing in France vntill he has no wife: Thou ſhalt haue none Roſſillion, none in France, Then haſt thou all againe: poore Lord, is't I That chaſe thee from thy Countrie, and expoſe Thoſe tender limbes of thine, to the euent Of the none-ſparing warre? And is it I, That driue thee from the ſportiue Court, where thou Was't ſhot at with faire eyes, to be the marke Of ſmoakie Muskts? O you leaden meſſengers, That ride vpon the violent ſpeede of fire, Fly with falſe ayme, moue the ſtill-peering aire That ſings with piercing, do not touch my Lord: Who euer ſhoots at him, I ſet him there. Who euer charges on his forward breſt I am the Caitiffe that do hold him too't, And though I kill him not, I am the cauſe His death was ſo effected: Better 'twere I met the rauine Lyon when he roar'd With ſharpe conſtraint of hunger: better 'twere, That all the miſeries which nature owes Were mine at once. No come thou home Roſſillion, Whence honor but of danger winnes a ſcarre, As oft it looſes all. I will be gone: My being heere it is, that holds thee hence, Shall I ſtay heere to doo't? No, no, although The ayre of Paradiſe did fan the houſe, And Angles offic'd all: I will be gone, That pittifull rumour may report my flight To conſolate thine eare. Come night, end day, For with the darke (poore theefe) Ile ſteale away.