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 · 483 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
Wash your hands, put on your Nightgown, look not so pale: I tell you yet again Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's grave. Even so? To bed, to bed: there's knocking at the gate: Come, come, come, come, give me your hand: What's done, cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed. Will she go now to bed? Directly. Fowl whisper are abroad: unnatural deeds Do breed unnatural troubles: infected minds To their deaf pillows will discharge their Secrets: More needs she the Divine, than the Physician: God, God forgive us all. Look after her, Remove from her the means of all annoyance, And still keep eyes upon her: So good-night, My mind she has mated, and amazed my sight, I think, but dare not speak. Good night good Doctor. The English power is near, led on by Malcolm, His Uncle Seyward, and the good Macduff. Revenges burn in them: for their dear causes Would to the bleeding, and the grim Alarm Excite the mortified man. near Byrnan wood Shall we well meet them, that way are they coming. Who knows if Donalbane be with his brother? For certain Sir, he is not: I have a File Of all the Gentry; there is Seywards Son, And many unruffe youths, that even now Protest their first of Manhood. What does the Tyrant. Great Dunsinane he strongly Fortifies: Some say he's mad: Others, that lesser hate him, Do call it valiant Fury, but for certain He cannot buckle his distempered cause Within the belt of Rule. Now does he feel His secret Murders sticking on his hands, Now minutely Revolts upbraid his Faith-breach: Those he commands, move only in command, Nothing in love: Now does he feel his Title Hang lose about him, like a Giant's Robe Upon a dwarfish Thief. Who then shall blame His pestered Senses to recoil, and start, When all that is within him, does condemn Itself, for being there. Well, march we on, To give Obedience, where 'tis truly owed: Meet we the Medicine of the sickly Weal, And with him pour we in our Countries purge, Each drop of us. Or so much as it needs, To due the Sovereign Flower, and drown the Weeds: Make we our March towards Birnan. Bring me no more Reports, let them fly all: Till Byrnane would remove to Dunsinane, I cannot taint with Fear. What's the Boy Malcolme? Was he not borne of woman? The Spirits that know All mortal Consequences, have pronounced me thus: Fear not Macbeth, no man that's borne of woman Shall ere have power upon thee. Then fly false Thanes, And mingle with the English Epicures, The mind I sway by, and the heart I bear, Shall never sagge with doubt, nor shake with fear. The devil damn thee black, thou cream-faced Loon: Where got'st thou that Goose-looke. There is ten thousand. Geese Villain? Soldiers' Sir.
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)
Waſh your hands, put on your Night-Gowne, looke not ſo pale: I tell you yet againe Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on's graue. Euen ſo? To bed, to bed: there's knocking at the gate: Come, come, come, come, giue me your hand: What's done, cannot be vndone. To bed, to bed, to bed. Will ſhe go now to bed? Directly. Foule whiſp'rings are abroad: vnnaturall deeds Do breed vnnaturall troubles: infected mindes To their deafe pillowes will diſcharge their Secrets: More needs ſhe the Diuine, then the Phyſitian: God, God forgiue vs all. Looke after her, Remoue from her the meanes of all annoyance, And ſtill keepe eyes vpon her: So goodnight, My minde ſhe ha's mated, and amaz'd my ſight, I thinke, but dare not ſpeake. Good night good Doctor. The Engliſh powre is neere, led on by Malcolm, His Vnkle Seyward, and the good Macduff. Reuenges burne in them: for their deere cauſes Would to the bleeding, and the grim Alarme Excite the mortified man. Neere Byrnan wood Shall we well meet them, that way are they comming. Who knowes if Donalbane be with his brother? For certaine Sir, he is not: I haue a File Of all the Gentry; there is Seywards Sonne, And many vnruffe youths, that euen now Proteſt their firſt of Manhood. What do's the Tyrant. Great Dunſinane he ſtrongly Fortifies: Some ſay hee's mad: Others, that leſſer hate him, Do call it valiant Fury, but for certaine He cannot buckle his diſtemper'd cauſe Within the belt of Rule. Now do's he feele His ſecret Murthers ſticking on his hands, Now minutely Reuolts vpbraid his Faith-breach: Thoſe he commands, moue onely in command, Nothing in loue: Now do's he feele his Title Hang looſe about him, like a Giants Robe Vpon a dwarfiſh Theefe. Who then ſhall blame His peſter'd Senſes to recoyle, and ſtart, When all that is within him, do's condemne It ſelfe, for being there. Well, march we on, To giue Obedience, where 'tis truly ow'd: Meet we the Med'cine of the ſickly Weale, And with him poure we in our Countries purge, Each drop of vs. Or ſo much as it needes, To dew the Soueraigne Flower, and drowne the Weeds: Make we our March towards Birnan. Bring me no more Reports, let them flye all: Till Byrnane wood remoue to Dunſinane, I cannot taint with Feare. What's the Boy Malcolme? Was he not borne of woman? The Spirits that know All mortall Conſequences, haue pronounc'd me thus: Feare not Macbeth, no man that's borne of woman Shall ere haue power vpon thee. Then fly falſe Thanes, And mingle with the Engliſh Epicures, The minde I ſway by, and the heart I beare, Shall neuer ſagge with doubt, nor ſhake with feare. The diuell damne thee blacke, thou cream-fac'd Loone: Where got'ſt thou that Gooſe-looke. There is ten thouſand. Geeſe Villaine? Souldiers Sir.