Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1606 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T18 Rebels, barons and the king's wars at ho · 485 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
Why well. And all my Children? Well too. The Tyrant has not battered at their peace? No, they were well at peace, when I did leave 'em Be not a niggard of your speech: How gosed? When I came hither to transport the Tidings Which I have heavily borne, there ran a Rumour Of many worthy Fellows, that were out, Which was to my belief witnessed the rather, For that I saw the Tyrant's Power afoot. Now is the time of help: your eye in Scotland Would create Soldiers, make our women fight, To doff their dire distresses. Be't their comfort We are coming thither: Gracious England hath Lent us good Seyward, and ten thousand men, An older, and a better Soldier, none That Christendom gives out. Would I could answer This comfort with the like. But I have words That would be howled out in the desert air, Where hearing should not latch them. What concern they, The general cause, or is it a Fee-griefe Due to some single breast? No mind that's honest But in it shares some woe, though the main part Pertains to you alone. If it be mine Keep it not from me, quickly let me have it. Let not your ears despise my tongue for ever, Which shall possess them with the heaviest sound That ever yet they heard. Humh: I guess at it. Your Castle is surprised: your Wife, and Babes Savagely slaughtered: To relate the manner Were on the Quarry of these murdered Deer To add the death of you. Merciful Heaven: What man, ne'er pull your hat upon your brows: Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak, Whispers the o'refraught heart, and bids it break. My Children too? Wife, Children, Servants, all that could be found. And I must be from thence? My wife killed too? I have said. Be comforted. Let's make us Medicines of our great Revenge, To cure this deadly grief. He has no Children. All my pretty ones? Did you say All? Oh Hell-Kite! All? What, All my pretty Chickens, and their Dam At one fell swoop? Dispute it like a man. I shall do so: But I must also feel it as a man; I cannot but remember such things were That were most precious to me: Did heaven look on, And would not take their part? Sinful Macduff, They were all strooke for thee: Naught that I am, Not for their own demerits, but for mine Fell slaughter on their souls: Heaven rest them now. Be this the Whetstone of your sword, let grief Convert to anger: blunt not the heart, enrage it. O I could play the woman with mine eyes, And Braggart with my tongue. But gentle Heavens, Cut short all intermission: Front to Front, Bring thou this Fiend of Scotland, and myself Within my Sword's length set him, if he scape Heaven forgive him too.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T13 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Why well. And all my Children? Well too. The Tyrant ha's not batter'd at their peace? No, they were wel at peace, when I did leaue 'em Be not a niggard of your ſpeech: How gos't? When I came hither to tranſport the Tydings Which I haue heauily borne, there ran a Rumour Of many worthy Fellowes, that were out, Which was to my beleefe witneſt the rather, For that I ſaw the Tyrants Power a-foot. Now is the time of helpe: your eye in Scotland Would create Soldiours, make our women fight, To doffe their dire diſtreſſes. Bee't their comfort We are comming thither: Gracious England hath Lent vs good Seyward, and ten thouſand men, An older, and a better Souldier, none That Chriſtendome giues out. Would I could anſwer This comfort with the like. But I haue words That would be howl'd out in the deſert ayre, Where hearing ſhould not latch them. What concerne they, The generall cauſe, or is it a Fee-griefe Due to ſome ſingle breſt? No minde that's honeſt But in it ſhares ſome woe, though the maine part Pertaines to you alone. If it be mine Keepe it not from me, quickly let me haue it. Let not your eares diſpiſe my tongue for euer, Which ſhall poſſeſſe them with the heauieſt ſound That euer yet they heard. Humh: I gueſſe at it. Your Caſtle is ſurpriz'd: your Wife, and Babes Sauagely ſlaughter'd: To relate the manner Were on the Quarry of theſe murther'd Deere To adde the death of you. Mercifull Heauen: What man, ne're pull your hat vpon your browes: Giue ſorrow words; the griefe that do's not ſpeake, Whiſpers the o're-fraught heart, and bids it breake. My Children too? Wife, Children, Seruants, all that could be found. And I muſt be from thence? My wife kil'd too? I haue ſaid. Be comforted. Let's make vs Med'cines of our great Reuenge, To cure this deadly greefe. He ha's no Children. All my pretty ones? Did you ſay All? Oh Hell-Kite! All? What, All my pretty Chickens, and their Damme At one fell ſwoope? Diſpute it like a man. I ſhall do ſo: But I muſt alſo feele it as a man; I cannot but remember ſuch things were That were moſt precious to me: Did heauen looke on, And would not take their part? Sinfull Macduff, They were all ſtrooke for thee: Naught that I am, Not for their owne demerits, but for mine Fell ſlaughter on their ſoules: Heauen reſt them now. Be this the Whetſtone of your ſword, let griefe Conuert to anger: blunt not the heart, enrage it. O I could play the woman with mine eyes, And Braggart with my tongue. But gentle Heauens, Cut ſhort all intermiſſion: Front to Front, Bring thou this Fiend of Scotland, and my ſelfe Within my Swords length ſet him, if he ſcape Heauen forgiue him too.