Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1603 [1603-1604] (Annals) tragicomedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 500 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
you beg a single penny more: Come you shall ha't, save your word. My name my good Lord is Parrolles. You beg more than word then. Cox my passion, give me your hand: How does your drum? O my good Lord, you were the first that found me. Was I insooth? And I was the first that lost thee. It lies in you my Lord to bring me in some grace for you did bring me out. Out upon thee knave, dost thou put upon me at once both the office of God and the devil: one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. The Kings coming I know by his Trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me, I had talk of you last night, though you are a fool and a knave, you shall eat, go too, follow. I praise God for you. We lost a jewel of her, and our esteem Was made much poorer by it: but your son, As mad in folly, lacked the sense to know Her estimation home. 'Tis past my Liege, And I beseech your Majesty to make it Natural rebellion, done i' th' blade of youth, When oil and fire, too strong for reasons force, Ore-beares it, and burns on. My honoured Lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all, Though my revenges were high bend upon him, And watched the time to shoot. This I must say, But first I beg my pardon: the young Lord Did to his Majesty, his Mother, and his Lady, Offence of mighty note; but to himself The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife, Whose beauty did astonish the survey Of richest eyes: whose words all ears took captive, Whose dear perfection, hearts that scorned to serve, Humbly called Mistress. Praising what is lost, Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither, We are reconciled, and the first view shall kill All repetition: Let him not ask our pardon, The nature of his great offence is dead, And deeper than oblivion, we do bury Th' incensing relics of it. Let him approach A stranger, no offender; and inform him So 'tis our will he should. I shall my Liege. What says he to your daughter, Have you spoke? All that he is, hath reference to your Highness. Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me, that sets him high in fame. He looks well on't. I am not a day of season, For thou mayst see a sunshine, and a hail In me at once: But to the brightest beams Distracted clouds give way, so stand thou forth, The time is fair again. My high repent blames Dear Sovereign pardon to me. All is whole, Not one word more of the consumed time, Let's take the instant by the forward top: For we are old, and on our quickest decrees Th' inaudible, and noiselesse foot of time Steals, ere we can effect them. You remember The daughter of this Lord?
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)
you begge a ſingle peny more: Come you ſhall hat, ſaue your word. My name my good Lord is Parrolles. You begge more then word then. Cox my paſſion, giue me your hand: How does your drumme? O my good Lord, you were the firſt that found mee. Was I inſooth? And I was the firſt that loſt thee. It lies in you my Lord to bring me in ſome grace for you did bring me out. Out vpon thee knaue, doeſt thou put vpon mee at once both the offiee of God and the diuel: one brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee out. The Kings comming I know by his Trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further after me, I had talke of you laſt night, though you are a foole and a knaue, you ſhall eate, go too, follow. I praiſe God for you. We loſt a Iewell of her, and our eſteeme Was made much poorer by it: but your ſonne, As mad in folly, lack'd the ſence to know Her eſtimation home. 'Tis paſt my Liege, And I beſeech your Maieſtie to make it Naturall rebellion, done i' th blade of youth, When oyle and fire, too ſtrong for reaſons force, Ore-beares it, and burnes on. My honour'd Lady, I haue forgiuen and forgotten all, Though my reuenges were high bent vpon him, And watch'd the time to ſhoote. This I muſt ſay, But firſt I begge my pardon: the yong Lord Did to his Maieſty, his Mother, and his Ladie, Offence of mighty note; but to himſelfe The greateſt wrong of all. He loſt a wife, Whoſe beauty did aſtoniſh the ſuruey Of richeſt eies: whoſe words all eares tooke captiue, Whoſe deere perfection, hearts that ſcorn'd to ſerue, Humbly call'd Miſtris. Praiſing what is loſt, Makes the remembrance deere. Well, call him hither, We are reconcil'd, and the firſt view ſhall kill All repetition: Let him not aske our pardon, The nature of his great offence is dead, And deeper then obliuion, we do burie Th' incenſing reliques of it. Let him approach A ſtranger, no offender; and informe him So 'tis our will he ſhould▪ I ſhall my Liege. What ſayes he to your daughter, Haue you ſpoke? All that he is, hath reference to your Highnes. Then ſhall we haue a match. I haue letters ſent me, that ſets him high in fame. He lookes well on't. I am not a day of ſeaſon, For thou maiſt ſee a ſun-ſhine, and a haile In me at once: But to the brighteſt beames Diſtracted clouds giue way, ſo ſtand thou forth, The time is faire againe. My high repented blames Deere Soueraigne pardon to me. All is whole, Not one word more of the conſumed time, Let's take the inſtant by the forward top: For we are old, and on our quick'ſt decrees Th' inaudible, and noiſeleſſe foot of time Steales, ere we can effect them. You remember The daughter of this Lord?