Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1606 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
Who did strike out the Light? Was't not the way? There's but one down: the Son is fled. We have lost Best half of our Affair. Well, let's away, and say how much is done. You know your own degrees, sit down: At first and last, the hearty welcome. Thanks to your Majesty. Ourself will mingle with Society, And play the humble Host: Our Hostess keeps her State, but in best time We will require her welcome. Pronounce it for me Sir, to all our Friends, For my heart speaks, they are welcome. See they encounter thee with their heart's thanks Both sides are even: here I'll sit i' th' midst, Be large in mirth, anon we'll drink a Measure The Table round. There's blood upon thy face. 'Tis Banquo's then. 'Tis better thee without, than he within. Is he dispatched? My Lord his throat is cut, that I did for him. Thou art the best o' th' Cutthroats, Yet he's good that did the like for Fleans: If thou didst it, thou art the Non-pareill. Most Royal Sir Fleans is scaped. Then comes my Fit again: I had else been perfect; Whole as the Marble, founded as the Rock, As broad, and general, as the casing Air: But now I am cabined, cribed, confined, bound in To saucy doubts, and fears. But Banquo's safe? I, my good Lord: safe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gashes on his head; The least a Death to Nature. Thanks for that: There the grown Serpent lies, the worm that's fled Hath Nature that in time will Venom breed, No teeth for th' present. Get thee gone, to morrow we'll hear ourselves again. My Royal Lord, You do not give the Cheer, the Feast is sold That is not often vouched, while 'tis a making: 'Tis given, with welcome: to feed were best at home: From thence, the sauce to meat is Ceremony, Meeting were bare without it. Sweet Remembrancer: Now good digestion wait on Appetite, And health on both. May't please your Highness sit. Here had we now our Country's Honour, roofed, Were the graced person of our Banquo present: Who, may I rather challenge for unkindness, Then pity for Mischance. His absence (Sir) Lays blame upon his promise. Pleased your Highness To grace us with your Royal Company? The Table's full. here is a place reserved Sir. Where? here my good Lord. What is't that moves your Highness? Which of you have done this? What, my good Lord? Thou canst not say I did it: never shake Thy gory locks at me. Gentlemen rise, his Highness is not well. Sat worthy Friends: my Lord is often thus, And hath been from his youth. Pray you keep Seat, The fit is momentary, upon a thought He will again be well. If much you note him You shall offend him, and extend his Passion, Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man?
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T21 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Who did ſtrike out the Light? Was't not the way? There's but one downe: the Sonne is fled. We haue loſt Beſt halfe of our Affaire. Well, let's away, and ſay how much is done. You know your owne degrees, ſit downe: At firſt and laſt, the hearty welcome. Thankes to your Maieſty. Our ſelfe will mingle with Society, And play the humble Hoſt: Our Hoſteſſe keepes her State, but in beſt time We will require her welcome. Pronounce it for me Sir, to all our Friends, For my heart ſpeakes, they are welcome. See they encounter thee with their harts thanks Both ſides are euen: heere Ile ſit i' th' mid'ſt, Be large in mirth, anon wee'l drinke a Meaſure The Table round. There's blood vpon thy face. 'Tis Banquo's then. 'Tis better thee without, then he within. Is he diſpatch'd? My Lord his throat is cut, that I did for him. Thou art the beſt o' th' Cut-throats, Yet hee's good that did the like for Fleans: If thou did'ſt it, thou art the Non-pareill. Moſt Royall Sir Fleans is ſcap'd. Then comes my Fit againe: I had elſe beene perfect; Whole as the Marble, founded as the Rocke, As broad, and generall, as the caſing Ayre: But now I am cabin'd, crib'd, confin'd, bound in To ſawcy doubts, and feares. But Banquo's ſafe? I, my good Lord: ſafe in a ditch he bides, With twenty trenched gaſhes on his head; The leaſt a Death to Nature. Thankes for that: There the growne Serpent lyes, the worme that's fled Hath Nature that in time will Venom breed, No teeth for th' preſent. Get thee gone, to morrow Wee'l heare our ſelues againe. My Royall Lord, You do not giue the Cheere, the Feaſt is ſold That is not often vouch'd, while 'tis a making: 'Tis giuen, with welcome: to feede were beſt at home: From thence, the ſawce to meate is Ceremony, Meeting were bare without it. Sweet Remembrancer: Now good digeſtion waite on Appetite, And health on both. May't pleaſe your Highneſſe ſit. Here had we now our Countries Honor, roof'd, Were the grac'd perſon of our Banquo preſent: Who, may I rather challenge for vnkindneſſe, Then pitty for Miſchance. His abſence (Sir) Layes blame vpon his promiſe. Pleas't your Highneſſe To grace vs with your Royall Company? The Table's full. Heere is a place reſeru'd Sir. Where? Heere my good Lord. What is't that moues your Highneſſe? Which of you haue done this? What, my good Lord? Thou canſt not ſay I did it: neuer ſhake Thy goary lockes at me. Gentlemen riſe, his Highneſſe is not well. Sit worthy Friends: my Lord is often thus, And hath beene from his youth. Pray you keepe Seat, The fit is momentary, vpon a thought He will againe be well. If much you note him You ſhall offend him, and extend his Paſſion, Feed, and regard him not. Are you a man?