Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1606 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
This time goes manly: Come go we to the King, our Power is ready, Our lack is nothing but our leave. Macbeth Is ripe for shaking, and the Powers above Put on their Instruments: Receive what cheer you may, The Night is long, that never finds the Day. I have too Nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in your report. When was it she last walked? Since his Majesty went into the Field, I have seen her rise from her bed, throw her Nightgown upon her, unlock her Closet, take forth paper, fold it, writ upon't, read it, afterwards Seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this while in a most fast sleep. A great perturbation in Nature, to receive at once the benefit of sleep, and do the effects of watching. In this slumbery agitation, besides her walking, and other actual performances, what (at any time) have you heard her say? That Sir, which I will not report after her. You may to me, and 'tis most meet you should. Neither to you, nor any one, having no witness to confirm my speech. Lo you, here she comes: This is her very guise, and upon my life fast asleep: observe her, stand close. How came she by that light? Why it stood by her: she has light by her continually, 'tis her command. You see her eyes are open. I but their sense are shut. What is it she does now? Look how she rubs her hands. It is an accustomed action with her, to seem thus washing her hands: I have known her continue in this a quarter of an hour. Yet here's a spot. Hark, she speaks, I will set down what comes from her, to satisfy my remembrance the more strongly. Out damned spot: out I say. One: Two: Why then 'tis time to do't: Hell is murky. Fie, my Lord, fie, a Soldier, and affear'd? what need we fear? who knows it, when none can call our power to account: yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him. Do you mark that? The Thane of Fife, had a wife: where is she now? What will these hands ne'er be clean? No more o' that my Lord, no more o' that: you mar all with this starting. Go too, go too: You have known what you should not. She has spoke what she should not, I am sure of that: Heaven knows what she has known. here's the smell of the blood still: all the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh. What a sigh is there? The hart is sorely charged. I would not have such a heart in my bosom, for the dignity of the whole body. Well, well, well. Pray God it be sir. This disease is beyond my practice: yet I have known those which have walked in their sleep, who have died holily in their beds.
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)
This time goes manly: Come go we to the King, our Power is ready, Our lacke is nothing but our leaue. Macbeth Is ripe for ſhaking, and the Powres aboue Put on their Inſtruments: Receiue what cheere you may, The Night is long, that neuer findes the Day. I haue too Nights watch'd with you, but can perceiue no truth in your report. When was it ſhee laſt walk'd? Since his Maieſty went into the Field, I haue ſeene her riſe from her bed, throw her Night-Gown vppon her, vnlocke her Cloſſet, take foorth paper, folde it, write vpon't, read it, afterwards Seale it, and againe returne to bed; yet all this while in a moſt faſt ſleepe. A great perturbation in Nature, to receyue at once the benefit of ſleep, and do the effects of watching. In this ſlumbry agitation, beſides her walking, and other actuall performances, what (at any time) haue you heard her ſay? That Sir, which I will not report after her. You may to me, and 'tis moſt meet you ſhould. Neither to you, nor any one, hauing no witneſſe to confirme my ſpeech. Lo you, heere ſhe comes: This is her very guiſe, and vpon my life faſt aſleepe: obſerue her, ſtand cloſe. How came ſhe by that light? Why it ſtood by her: ſhe ha's light by her continually, 'tis her command. You ſee her eyes are open. I but their ſenſe are ſhut. What is it ſhe do's now? Looke how ſhe rubbes her hands. It is an accuſtom'd action with her, to ſeeme thus waſhing her hands: I haue knowne her continue in this a quarter of an houre. Yet heere's a ſpot. Heark, ſhe ſpeaks, I will ſet downe what comes from her, to ſatisfie my remembrance the more ſtrongly. Out damned ſpot: out I ſay. One: Two: Why then 'tis time to doo't: Hell is murky. Fye, my Lord, fie, a Souldier, and affear'd? what need we feare? who knowes it, when none can call our powre to accompt: yet who would haue thought the olde man to haue had ſo much blood in him. Do you marke that? The Thane of Fife, had a wife: where is ſhe now? What will theſe hands ne're be cleane? No more o' that my Lord, no more o' that: you marre all with this ſtarting. Go too, go too: You haue knowne what you ſhould not. She ha's ſpoke what ſhee ſhould not, I am ſure of that: Heauen knowes what ſhe ha's knowne. Heere's the ſmell of the blood ſtill: all the perfumes of Arabia will not ſweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh. What a ſigh is there? The hart is ſorely charg'd. I would not haue ſuch a heart in my boſome, for the dignity of the whole body. Well, well, well. Pray God it be ſir. This diſeaſe is beyond my practiſe: yet I haue knowne thoſe which haue walkt in their ſleep, who haue dyed holily in their beds.