Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1606 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 488 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
That now Sweno, the Norway's King, Craves composition: Nor would we deign him burial of his men, Till he disbursed, at Saint Colmes inch, Ten thousand Dollars, to our general use. No more that Thane of Cawdor shall deceive Our Bosom interest: Go pronounce his present death, And with his former Title greet Macbeth. I'll see it done. What he hath lost, Noble Macbeth hath won. Where hast thou been, Sister? Killing Swine. Sister, where thou? A Saylors Wife had Chestnuts in her Lap, And mouncht, & mouncht, and mouncht: Give me, quoth I. Aroynt thee, Witch, the rumpe-fed Ronyon cries. Her Husband's to Aleppo gone, Master o' th' Tiger: But in a Syue I'll thither sail, And like a Rat without a tail, I'll do, I'll do, and I'll do. I'll give thee a Wind. The art kind. And I another. I myself have all the other, And the very Ports they blow, All the Quarters that they know, I' th' Shipman's Card. I'll dreyne him dry as Hay: Sleep shall neither Night nor Day Hang upon his Penthouse Lid: He shall live a man forbid: Weary Seu'nights, nine times nine, Shall he dwindle, peak, and pine: Though his Bark cannot be lost, Yet it shall be Tempest-tost. Look what I have. Show me, show me. Here I have a Pilots Thumb, Wracked, as homeward he did come. A Drum, a Drum: Macbeth doth come. The weyward Sisters, hand in hand, Posters of the Sea and Land, Thus do go, about, about, Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice again, to make up nine. Peace, the Charmes wound up. So foul and fair a day I have not seen. How far is't called to Soris? What are these, So withered, and so wild in their attire, That look not like th' Inhabitants o' th' Earth, And yet are on't? Live you, or are you aught That man may question? you seem to understand me, By each at once her choppie finger laying Upon her skinnie Lips: you should be Women, And yet your Beards forbidden me to interpret That you are so. Speak if you can: what are you? All hail Macbeth, hail to thee Thane of Glamis. All hail Macbeth, hail to thee Thane of Cawdor. All hail Macbeth, that shalt be King hereafter. Good Sir, why do you start, and seem to fear Things that do sound so fair? i th' name of truth Are ye fantastical, or that indeed Which outwardly ye show? My Noble Partner You greet with present Grace, and great prediction Of Noble having, and of Royal hope, That he seems wrapped withal: to me you speak not. If you can look into the Seeds of Time, And say, which Grain will grow, and which will not, Speak then to me, who neither beg, nor fear Your favours, nor your hate. Hayle. Hayle. Hayle. Lesser than Macbeth, and greater.
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)
That now Sweno, the Norwayes King, Craues compoſition: Nor would we deigne him buriall of his men, Till he disburſed, at Saint Colmes ynch, Ten thouſand Dollars, to our generall vſe. No more that Thane of Cawdor ſhall deceiue Our Boſome intereſt: Goe pronounce his preſent death, And with his former Title greet Macbeth. Ile ſee it done. What he hath loſt, Noble Macbeth hath wonne. Where haſt thou beene, Siſter? Killing Swine. Siſter, where thou? A Saylors Wife had Cheſtnuts in her Lappe, And mouncht, & mouncht, and mouncht: Giue me, quoth I. Aroynt thee, Witch, the rumpe-fed Ronyon cryes. Her Husband's to Aleppo gone, Maſter o' th' Tiger: But in a Syue Ile thither ſayle, And like a Rat without a tayle, Ile doe, Ile doe, and Ile doe. Ile giue thee a Winde. Th' art kinde. And I another. I my ſelfe haue all the other, And the very Ports they blow, All the Quarters that they know, I' th' Ship-mans Card. Ile dreyne him drie as Hay: Sleepe ſhall neyther Night nor Day Hang vpon his Pent-houſe Lid: He ſhall liue a man forbid: Wearie Seu'nights, nine times nine, Shall he dwindle, peake, and pine: Though his Barke cannot be loſt, Yet it ſhall be Tempeſt-toſt▪ Looke what I haue. Shew me, ſhew me. Here I haue a Pilots Thumbe, Wrackt, as homeward he did come. A Drumme, a Drumme: Macbeth doth come. The weyward Siſters, hand in hand, Poſters of the Sea and Land, Thus doe goe, about, about, Thrice to thine, and thrice to mine, And thrice againe, to make vp nine. Peace, the Charme's wound vp. So foule and faire a day I haue not ſeene. How farre is't call'd to Soris? What are theſe, So wither'd, and ſo wilde in their attyre, That looke not like th' Inhabitants o' th' Earth, And yet are on't? Liue you, or are you aught That man may queſtion? you ſeeme to vnderſtand me, By each at once her choppie finger laying Vpon her skinnie Lips: you ſhould be Women, And yet your Beards forbid me to interprete That you are ſo. Speake if you can: what are you? All haile Macbeth, haile to thee Thane of Glamis. All haile Macbeth, haile to thee Thane of Cawdor. All haile Macbeth, that ſhalt be King hereafter. Good Sir, why doe you ſtart, and ſeeme to feare Things that doe ſound ſo faire? i' th' name of truth Are ye fantaſticall, or that indeed Which outwardly ye ſhew? My Noble Partner You greet with preſent Grace, and great prediction Of Noble hauing, and of Royall hope, That he ſeemes wrapt withall: to me you ſpeake not. If you can looke into the Seedes of Time, And ſay, which Graine will grow, and which will not, Speake then to me, who neyther begge, nor feare Your fauors, nor your hate. Hayle. Hayle. Hayle. Leſſer then Macbeth, and greater.