Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1601 [1601-1602] (Annals) comedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T7 The Trojan war: conflict and its afterma · 482 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T7: hector, troy, achilles, greeks, aeneas, priam, ulysses, troilus, trojan, trojans.
My purpose is indeed a horse of that colour. And your horse now would make him an Ass. Ass, I doubt not. O 'twill be admirable. Sport royal I warrant you: I know my Physic will work with him, I will plant you two, and let the Fool make a third, where he shall find the Letter: observe his construction of it: For this night to bed, and dream on the event: Farewell. Good night Penthesilea. Before me she's a good wench. She's a beagle true bred, and one that adores me: what o' that? I was adored once too. Let's to bed knight: Thou hadst need send for more money. If I cannot recover your Niece, I am a foul way out. Send for money knight, if thou hast her not i' th' end, call me Cut. If I do not, never trust me, take it how you will. Come, come, I'll go burn some Sack, 'tis too late to go to bed now: Come knight, come knight. Give me some Music; Now good morrow friends. Now good Cesario, but that piece of song, That old and Antic song we heard last night; Methought it did relieve my passion much, More than light airs, and recollected terms Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times. Come, but one verse. He is not here (so please your Lordship) that should sing it? Who was it? Feste the Iester my Lord, a fool that the Lady Oliuiaes Father took much delight in. He is about the house. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. Come hither Boy, if ever thou shalt love In the sweet pangs of it, remember me: For such as I am, all true Lovers are, Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, Save in the constant image of the creature That is beloved. How dost thou like this tune? It gives a very echo to the seat Where love is thron'd. Thou dost speak masterly, My life upon't, young though thou art, thine eye Hath stayed upon some favour that it loves: Hath it not boy? A little, by your favour. What kind of woman is't? Of your complexion. She is not worth thee then. What years i'faith? About your years my Lord. Too old by heaven: Let still the woman take An elder than herself, so wears she to him; So sways she level in her husband's heart: For boy, however we do praise our seives, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirme, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, Than women's are. I think it well my Lord. Then let thy Love be younger than thyself, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: For women are as Roses, whose fair flower Being once displayed, doth fall that very hour. And so they are: alas, that they are so: To die, even when they to perfection grow.
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)
My purpoſe is indeed a horſe of that colour. And your horſe now would make him an Aſſe. Aſſe, I doubt not. O twill be admirable. Sport royall I warrant you: I know my Phyſicke will worke with him, I will plant you two, and let the Foole make a third, where he ſhall finde the Letter: obſerue his conſtruction of it: For this night to bed, and dreame on the euent: Farewell. Good night Penthiſilea. Before me ſhe's a good wench. She's a beagle true bred, and one that adores me: what o' that? I was ador'd once too. Let's to bed knight: Thou hadſt neede ſend for more money. If I cannot recouer your Neece, I am a foule way out. Send for money knight, if thou haſt her not i' th end, call me Cut. If I do not, neuer truſt me, take it how you will. Come, come, Ile go burne ſome Sacke, tis too late to go to bed now: Come knight, come knight. Giue me ſome Muſick; Now good morow frends. Now good Ceſario, but that peece of ſong, That old and Anticke ſong we heard laſt night; Me thought it did releeue my paſſion much, More then light ayres, and recollected termes Of theſe moſt briske and giddy-paced times. Come, but one verſe. He is not heere (ſo pleaſe your Lordſhippe) that ſhould ſing it? Who was it? Feſt the leſter my Lord, a foole that the Ladie Oliuiaes Father tooke much delight in. He is about the houſe. Seeke him out, and play the tune the while. Come hither Boy, if euer thou ſhalt loue In the ſweet pangs of it, remember me: For ſuch as I am, all true Louers are, Vnſtaid and skittiſh in all motions elſe, Saue in the conſtant image of the creature That is belou'd. How doſt thou like this tune? It giues a verie eccho to the ſeate Where loue is thrond. Thou doſt ſpeake maſterly, My life vpon't, yong though thou art, thine eye Hath ſtaid vpon ſome fauour that it loues: Hath it not boy? A little, by your fauour. What kinde of woman iſt? Of your complection. She is not worth thee then. What yeares ifaith? About your yeeres my Lord. Too old by heauen: Let ſtill the woman take An elder then her ſelfe, ſo weares ſhe to him; So ſwayes ſhe leuell in her husbands heart: For boy, howeuer we do praiſe our ſeiues, Our fancies are more giddie and vnfirme, More longing, wauering, ſooner loſt and worne, Then womens are. I thinke it well my Lord. Then let thy Loue be yonger then thy ſelfe, Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: For women are as Roſes, whoſe faire flowre Being once diſplaid, doth fall that verie howre. And ſo they are: alas, that they are ſo: To die, euen when they to perfection grow.