Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1606 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T56 Magic, spells and conjuring · 490 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T56: magic, faustus, charms, charm, conjure, spirits, skill, ho, power, spells.
I pray you speak not: he grows worse & worse Question enrages him: at once, good-night. Stand not upon the order of your going, But go at once. Good night, and better health Attend his Majesty. A kind goodnight to all. It will have blood they say: Blood will have Blood: Stones have been known to move, & Trees to speak: Augurs, and understood Relations, have By Maggot Pies, & Choughes & Rooks brought forth The secretest man of Blood. What is the night? Almost at odds with morning, which is which. How sayst thou that Macduff denies his person At our great bidding. Did you send to him Sir? I hear it by the way: But I will send: There's not a one of them but in his house I keep a Servant Feed. I will to morrow (And betimes I will) to the weyard Sisters. More shall they speak: for now I am bend to know By the worst means, the worst, for mine own good, All causes shall give way. I am in blood Stepped in so far, that should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go over: Strange things I have in head, that will to hand, Which must be acted, ere they may be scanned. You lack the season of all Natures, sleep. Come, we'll to sleep: My strange & self-abuse Is the initiate fear, that wants hard use: We are yet but young indeed. Why how now Hecat, you look angrily? Have I not reason (Beldames) as you are? Saucy, and overbold, how did you dare To Trade, and Traffic with Macbeth, In Riddles, and Affairs of death; And I the Mistress of your Charms, The close contriver of all harms, Was never called to bear my part, Or show the glory of our Art? And which is worse, all you have done Hath been but for a wayward Son, Spightfull, and wrathful, who (as others do) Loves for his own ends, not for you. But make amends now: Get you gone, And at the pit of Acheron Meet me i' th' Morning: thither he Will come, to know his Destiny. Your Vessels, and your Spells provide, Your Charms, and every thing beside; I am for th' Air: This night I'll spend Unto a dismal, and a Fatal end. Great business must be wrought ere Noon. Upon the Corner of the Moon There hangs a vaporous drop, profound, I'll catch it ere it come to ground; And that distilled by Magic slights, Shall raise such Artificial Sprights, As by the strength of their illusion, Shall draw him on to his Confusion. He shall spurn Fate, scorn Death, and bear His hopes 'boue Wisdom, Grace, and Fear: And you all know, Security Is Mortals chiefest Enemy. Hark, I am called: my little Spirit see Sits in a Foggy cloud, and stays for me. Come, let's make haste, she'll soon be Back again.
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)
I pray you ſpeake not: he growes worſe & worſe Queſtion enrages him: at once, goodnight. Stand not vpon the order of your going, But go at once. Good night, and better health Attend his Maieſty. A kinde goodnight to all. It will haue blood they ſay: Blood will haue Blood: Stones haue beene knowne to moue, & Trees to ſpeake: Augures, and vnderſtood Relations, haue By Maggot Pyes, & Choughes & Rookes brought forth The ſecret'ſt man of Blood. What is the night? Almoſt at oddes with morning, which is which. How ſay'ſt thou that Macduff denies his perſon At our great bidding. Did you ſend to him Sir? I heare it by the way: But I will ſend: There's not a one of them but in his houſe I keepe a Seruant Feed. I will to morrow (And betimes I will) to the weyard Siſters. More ſhall they ſpeake: for now I am bent to know By the worſt meanes, the worſt, for mine owne good, All cauſes ſhall giue way. I am in blood Stept in ſo farre, that ſhould I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go ore: Strange things I haue in head, that will to hand, Which muſt be acted, ere they may be ſcand. You lacke the ſeaſon of all Natures, ſleepe. Come, wee'l to ſleepe: My ſtrange & ſelf-abuſe Is the initiate feare, that wants hard vſe: We are yet but yong indeed. Why how now Hecat, you looke angerly? Haue I not reaſon (Beldams) as you are? Sawcy, and ouer-bold, how did you dare To Trade, and Trafficke with Macbeth, In Riddles, and Affaires of death; And I the Miſtris of your Charmes, The cloſe contriuer of all harmes, Was neuer call'd to beare my part, Or ſhew the glory of our Art? And which is worſe, all you haue done Hath bene but for a wayward Sonne, Spightfull, and wrathfull, who (as others do) Loues for his owne ends, not for you. But make amends now: Get you gon, And at the pit of Acheron Meete me i' th' Morning: thither he Will come, to know his Deſtinie. Your Veſſels, and your Spels prouide, Your Charmes, and euery thing beſide; I am for th' Ayre: This night Ile ſpend Vnto a diſmall, and a Fatall end. Great buſineſſe muſt be wrought ere Noone. Vpon the Corner of the Moone There hangs a vap'rous drop, profound, Ile catch it ere it come to ground; And that diſtill'd by Magicke ſlights, Shall raiſe ſuch Artificiall Sprights, As by the ſtrength of their illuſion, Shall draw him on to his Confuſion. He ſhall ſpurne Fate, ſcorne Death, and beare His hopes 'boue Wiſedome, Grace, and Feare: And you all know, Security Is Mortals cheefeſt Enemie. Hearke, I am call'd▪ my little Spirit ſee Sits in a Foggy cloud, and ſtayes for me. Come, let's make haſt, ſhee'l ſoone be Backe againe.