Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1606 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.66 · 506 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Was it so late, friend, ere you went to Bed, That you do lie so late? Faith Sir, we were carousing till the second Cock: And Drink, Sir, is a great provoker of three things. What three things does Drink especially provoke? Marry, Sir, Nose-painting, Sleep, and Urine. Lechery, Sir, it provokes, and unprovokes: it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance. Therefore much Drink may be said to be an Equivocator with Lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him stand too, and not stand too: in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and giving him the Lie, leaves him. I believe, Drink gave thee the Lie last Night. That it did, Sir, i' the very Throat on me: but I requited him for his Lie, and (I think) being too strong for him, though he took up my Legs sometime, yet I made a Shift to cast him. Is thy Master stirring? Our knocking has awaked him: here he comes. Good morrow, Noble Sir. Good morrow both. Is the King stirring, worthy Thane? Not yet. He did command me to call timely on him, I have almost slipped the hour. I'll bring you to him. I know this is a joyful trouble to you: But yet 'tis one. The labour we delight in, Physics pain: This is the Door. I'll make so bold to call, for 'tis my limited service. Goes the King hence to day? He does: he did appoint so. The Night has been unruly: Where we lay, our Chimneys were blown down, And (as they say) lament heard i' th' Air; Strange Schreemes of Death, And Prophesying, with Accents terrible, Of dire Combustion, and confused Events, New hatched toth' woeful time. The obscure Bird clamoured the livelong Night. Some say, the Earth was fevorous, And did shake. 'Twas a rough Night. My young remembrance cannot parallel A fellow to it. O horror, horror, horror, Tongue nor Heart cannot conceive, nor name thee. What's the matter? Confusion now hath made his Masterpiece: Most sacrilegious Murder hath broke open The Lords anointed Temple, and stole thence The Life o' th' Building. What is't you say, the Life? Mean you his Majesty? Approach the Chamber, and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon. Do not bid me speak: See, and then speak yourselves: awake, awake, Ring the Alarm Bell: Murder, and Treason, Banquo, and Donalbaine: Malcolme awake, Shake off this Downey sleep, Death's counterfeit, And look on Death itself: up, up, and see The great Doom's Image: Malcolme, Banquo, As from your Graves rise up, and walk like Sprights, To countenance this horror. Ring the Bell. What's the Business? That such a hideous Trumpet calls to parley The sleepers of the House? speak, speak. O gentle Lady, 'Tis not for you to hear what I can speak: The repetition in a Woman's care, Would murder as it fell. O Banquo, Banquo, Our Royal Master's murdered.
nodes 690–753 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 11 of 33 in this edition
Length
506 words · 737 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.661 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
Was it ſo late, friend, ere you went to Bed, That you doe lye ſo late? Faith Sir, we were carowſing till the ſecond Cock: And Drinke, Sir, is a great prouoker of three things. What three things does Drinke eſpecially prouoke? Marry, Sir▪ Noſe-painting, Sleepe, and Vrine. Lecherie, Sir, it prouokes, and vnprouokes: it prouokes the deſire, but it takes away the performance. Therefore much Drinke may be ſaid to be an Equiuocator with Lecherie: it makes him, and it marres him; it ſets him on, and it takes him off; it perſwades him, and diſ-heartens him; makes him ſtand too, and not ſtand too: in concluſion, equiuocates him in a ſleepe, and giuing him the Lye, leaues him. I beleeue, Drinke gaue thee the Lye laſt Night. That it did, Sir, i' the very Throat on me: but I requited him for his Lye, and (I thinke) being too ſtrong for him, though he tooke vp my Legges ſometime, yet I made a Shift to caſt him. Is thy Maſter ſtirring? Our knocking ha's awak'd him: here he comes. Good morrow, Noble Sir. Good morrow both. Is the King ſtirring, worthy Thane? Not yet. He did command me to call timely on him, I haue almoſt ſlipt the houre. Ile bring you to him. I know this is a ioyfull trouble to you: But yet 'tis one. The labour we delight in, Phyſicks paine: This is the Doore. Ile make ſo bold to call, for 'tis my limitted ſeruice. Goes the King hence to day? He does: he did appoint ſo. The Night ha's been vnruly: Where we lay, our Chimneys were blowne downe, And (as they ſay) lamentings heard i' th' Ayre; Strange Schreemes of Death, And Prophecying, with Accents terrible, Of dyre Combuſtion, and confus'd Euents, New hatch'd toth' wofull time. The obſcure Bird clamor'd the liue-long Night. Some ſay, the Earth was feuorous, And did ſhake. 'Twas a rough Night. My young remembrance cannot paralell A fellow to it. O horror, horror, horror, Tongue nor Heart cannot conceiue, nor name thee. What's the matter? Confuſion now hath made his Maſter-peece: Moſt ſacrilegious Murther hath broke ope The Lords anoynted Temple, and ſtole thence The Life o' th' Building. What is't you ſay, the Life? Meane you his Maieſtie? Approch the Chamber, and deſtroy your ſight With a new Gorgon. Doe not bid me ſpeake: See, and then ſpeake your ſelues: awake, awake, Ring the Alarum Bell: Murther, and Treaſon, Banquo, and Donalbaine: Malcolme awake, Shake off this Downey ſleepe, Deaths counterfeit, And looke on Death it ſelfe: vp, vp, and ſee The great Doomes Image: Malcolme, Banquo, As from your Graues riſe vp, and walke like Sprights, To countenance this horror. Ring the Bell. What's the Buſineſſe? That ſuch a hideous Trumpet calls to parley The ſleepers of the Houſe? ſpeake, ſpeake. O gentle Lady, 'Tis not for you to heare what I can ſpeake: The repetition in a Womans care, Would murther as it fell. O Banquo, Banquo, Our Royall Maſter's murther'd.