Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1606 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 494 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
Two Truths are told, As happy Prologues to the swelling Act Of the Imperial Theme. I thank you Gentlemen: This supernatural soliciting Cannot be ill; cannot be good. If ill? why hath it given me earnest of success, Commencing in a Truth? I am Thane of Cawdor. If good? why do I yield to that suggestion, Whose horrid Image doth unfixe my Heir, And make my seated Heart knock at my Ribs, Against the use of Nature? Present Fears Are less than horrible Imagine: My Thought, whose Murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of Man, That Function is smothered in surmise, And nothing is, but what is not. Look how our Partner's rapt. If Chance will have me King, Why Chance may Crown me, Without my stir. Now Honours come upon him Like our strange Garments, cleave not to their mould, But with the aid of use. Come what come may, Time, and the Hour, runs through the roughest Day. Worthy Macbeth, we stay upon your leisure. Give me your favour: My dull Brain was wrought with things forgotten. Kind Gentlemen, your pains are registered, Where every day I turn the Lease, To read them. Let us toward the King: think upon What hath chanced: and at more time, The Interim having weighed it, let us speak Our free Hearts each to other. Very gladly. Till then enough: Come friends. Is execution done on Cawdor? Or not those in Commission yet returned? My Liege, they are not yet come back. But I have spoke with one that saw him die: Who did report, that very frankly he Confessed his Treasons, implored your Highness' Pardon, And set forth a deep Repentance: Nothing in his Life became him, Like the leaving it. He died, As one that had been studied in his death, To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless Trifle. There's no Art, To find the Minds construction in the Face: He was a Gentleman, on whom I built An absolute Trust. O worthiest Cousin, The sin of my Ingratitude even now Was heavy on me. Thou art so far before, That swiftest Wing of Recompense is slow, To overtake thee. Would thou hadst less deserved, That the proportion both of thanks, and payment, Might have been mine: only I have left to say, More is thy due, then more than all can pay. The service, and the loyalty I own, In doing it, pays itself. Your highness' part, is to receive our Duties: And our Duties are to your Throne, and State, Children, and Servants; which do but what they should, By doing every thing safe toward your Love And Honor. Welcome hither: I have begun to plant thee, and will labour To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo, That hast no less deserved, nor must be known No less to have done so: Let me enfold thee, And hold thee to my Heart.
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)
Two Truths are told, As happy Prologues to the ſwelling Act Of the Imperiall Theame. I thanke you Gentlemen: This ſupernaturall ſolliciting Cannot be ill; cannot be good. If ill? why hath it giuen me earneſt of ſucceſſe, Commencing in a Truth? I am Thane of Cawdor. If good? why doe I yeeld to that ſuggeſtion, Whoſe horrid Image doth vnfixe my Heire, And make my ſeated Heart knock at my Ribbes, Againſt the vſe of Nature? Preſent Feares Are leſſe then horrible Imaginings: My Thought, whoſe Murther yet is but fantaſticall, Shakes ſo my ſingle ſtate of Man, That Function is ſmother'd in ſurmiſe, And nothing is, but what is not. Looke how our Partner's rapt. If Chance will haue me King, Why Chance may Crowne me, Without my ſtirre. Now Honors come vpon him Like our ſtrange Garments, cleaue not to their mould, But with the aid of vſe. Come what come may, Time, and the Houre, runs through the rougheſt Day. Worthy Macbeth, wee ſtay vpon your leyſure. Giue me your fauour: My dull Braine was wrought with things forgotten. Kinde Gentlemen, your paines are regiſtred, Where euery day I turne the Leaſe, To reade them. Let vs toward the King: thinke vpon What hath chanc'd: and at more time, The Interim hauing weigh'd it▪ let vs ſpeake Our free Hearts each to other. Very gladly. Till then enough: Come friends. Is execution done on Cawdor? Or not thoſe in Commiſſion yet return'd? My Liege, they are not yet come back. But I haue ſpoke with one that ſaw him die: Who did report, that very frankly hee Confeſs'd his Treaſons, implor'd your Highneſſe Pardon, And ſet forth a deepe Repentance: Nothing in his Life became him, Like the leauing it. Hee dy'de, As one that had beene ſtudied in his death, To throw away the deareſt thing he ow'd, As 'twere a careleſſe Trifle. There's no Art, To finde the Mindes conſtruction in the Face: He was a Gentleman, on whom I built An abſolute Truſt. O worthyeſt Couſin, The ſinne of my Ingratitude euen now Was heauie on me. Thou art ſo farre before, That ſwifteſt Wing of Recompence is ſlow, To ouertake thee. Would thou hadſt leſſe deſeru'd, That the proportion both of thanks, and payment, Might haue beene mine: onely I haue left to ſay, More is thy due, then more then all can pay. The ſeruice, and the loyaltie I owe, In doing it, payes it ſelfe. Your Highneſſe part, is to receiue our Duties: And our Duties are to your Throne, and State, Children, and Seruants; which doe but what they ſhould, By doing euery thing ſafe toward your Loue And Honor. Welcome hither: I haue begun to plant thee, and will labour To make thee full of growing. Noble Banquo, That haſt no leſſe deſeru'd, nor muſt be knowne No leſſe to haue done ſo: Let me enfold thee, And hold thee to my Heart.