Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1607 [c.1606-c.1608] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 520 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
She, whom the Spittle-house, and ulcerous sores, Would cast the gorge at. This Embalmes and Spices To ' th' April day again. Come damned Earth, Thou common whore of Mankind, that puts odds Among the rout of Nations, I will make thee Do thy right Nature. Ha'? A Drum? Th' art quick, But yet I'll bury thee: thou't go (strong Thief) When Gouty keepers of thee cannot stand: Nay stay thou out for earnest. What art thou there? speak. A Beast as thou art. The Canker gnaw thy hart For showing me again the eyes of Man. What is thy name? Is man so hateful to thee, That art thyself a Man? I am Misantropos, and hate Mankind, For thy part, I do wish thou wert a dog, That I might love thee something. I know thee well: But in thy Fortune's am unlearned, and strange. I know thee too, and more than that I know thee I not desire to know. Fellow thy Drum, With man's blood paint the ground Gules, Gules: Religious Cannons, civil Laws are cruel, Then what should war be? This fell whore of thine, Hath in her more destruction than thy Sword, For all her Cherubin look. Thy lips rot off. I will not kiss thee, than the rot returns To thine own lips again. How came the Noble Timon to this change? As the Moon does, by wanting light to give: But then renew I could not like the Moon, There were no Suns to borrow of. Noble Timon, what friendship may I do thee? None, but to maintain my opinion. What is it Timon? Promise me Friendship, but perform none. If thou wilt not promise, the Gods plague thee, for thou art a man: if thou dost perform, confound thee, for thou art a man. I have heard in some sort of thy Miseries. Thou saw'st them when I had prosperity. I see them now, then was a blessed time. As thine is now, held with a brace of Harlots. Is this th' Athenian Minion, whom the world Voiced so regardfully? Art thou Timandra? Yes. Be a whore still, they love thee not that use thee, give them diseases, leaving with thee their Lust. Make use of thy salt hours, season the slaves for Tubs and Baths, bring down Rose-checkt youth to the Pubfast, and the Diet. Hang thee Monster. Pardon him sweet Timandra, for his wits Are drowned and lost in his Calamities. I have but little Gold of late, brave Timon, The want whereof, doth daily make revolt In my penurious Band. I have heard and grieved How cursed Athens, mindelesse of thy worth, Forgetting thy great deeds, when Neighbour states But for thy Sword and Fortune trod upon them. I prithee beat thy Drum, and get thee gone. I am thy Friend, and pity thee dear Timon. How dost thou pity him whom thou dost trouble, I had rather be alone. Why far thee well: here is some Gold for thee. Keep it, I cannot eat it. When I have laid proud Athens on a heap. Warrest thou 'gainst Athens.
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)
Shee, whom the Spittle-houſe, and vlcerous ſores, Would caſt the gorge at. This Embalmes and Spices To' th' Aprill day againe. Come damn'd Earth, Thou common whore of Mankinde, that puttes oddes Among the rout of Nations, I will make thee Do thy right Nature. Ha? A Drumme? Th' art quicke, But yet Ile bury thee: Thou't go (ſtrong Theefe) When Gowty keepers of thee cannot ſtand: Nay ſtay thou out for earneſt. What art thou there? ſpeake. A Beaſt as thou art. The Canker gnaw thy hart For ſhewing me againe the eyes of Man. What is thy name? Is man ſo hatefull to thee, That art thy ſelfe a Man? I am Miſantropos, and hate Mankinde, For thy part, I do wiſh thou wert a dogge, That I might loue thee ſomething. I know thee well: But in thy Fortunes am vnlearn'd, and ſtrange. I know thee too, and more then that I know thee I not deſire to know. Follow thy Drumme, With mans blood paint the ground Gules, Gules: Religious Cannons, ciuill Lawes are cruell, Then what ſhould warre be? This fell whore of thine, Hath in her more deſtruction then thy Sword, For all her Cherubin looke. Thy lips rot off. I will not kiſſe thee, then the rot returnes To thine owne lippes againe. How came the Noble Timon to this change? As the Moone do's, by wanting light to giue: But then renew I could not like the Moone, There were no Sunnes to borrow of. Noble Timon, what friendſhip may I do thee? None, but to maintaine my opinion. What is it Timon? Promiſe me Friendſhip, but performe none. If thou wilt not promiſe, the Gods plague thee, for thou art a man: if thou do'ſt performe, confound thee, for thou art a man. I haue heard in ſome ſort of thy Miſeries. Thou ſaw'ſt them when I had proſperitie. I ſee them now, then was a bleſſed time. As thine is now, held with a brace of Harlots. Is this th' Athenian Minion, whom the world Voic'd ſo regardfully? Art thou Timandra? Yes. Be a whore ſtill, they loue thee not that vſe thee, giue them diſeaſes, leauing with thee their Luſt. Make vſe of thy ſalt houres, ſeaſon the ſlaues for Tubbes and Bathes, bring downe Roſe-checkt youth to the Pubfaſt, and the Diet. Hang thee Monſter. Pardon him ſweet Timandra▪ for his wits Are drown'd and loſt in his Calamities. I haue but little Gold of late, braue Timon, The want whereof, doth dayly make reuolt In my penurious Band. I haue heard and greeu'd How curſed Athens, mindeleſſe of thy worth, Forgetting thy great deeds, when Neighbour ſtates But for thy Sword and Fortune trod vpon them. I prythee beate thy Drum, and get thee gone. I am thy Friend, and pitty thee deere Timon. How doeſt thou pitty him whom yu doſt troble, I had rather be alone. Why fare thee well: Heere is ſome Gold for thee. Keepe it, I cannot eate it. When I haue laid proud Athens on a heape. Warr'ſt thou 'gainſt Athens.