Shakespeare, William / Middleton, Thomas · published 1623 · first performed or written 1606 (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T3 Sickness, physic and doctors · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
Go prick thy face, and over-red thy fear Thou Lilly-liuered Boy. What Soldiers, Patch? Death of thy Soul, those Linen cheeks of thine Are Counsellors to fear. What Soldiers Whay-face? The English Force, so please you. Take thy face hence. Seyton, I am sick at hart, When I behold: Seyton, I say, this push Will cheer me ever, or dis-eate me now. I have lived long enough: my way of life Is fall'n into the Seare, the yellow Leaf, And that which should accompany Old-Age, As Honour, Love, Obedience, Troops of Friends, I must not look to have: but in their steed, Curses, not loud but deep, Mouth-honour, breath Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. Seyton? What's your gracious pleasure? What News more? All is confirmed my Lord, which was reported. I'll fight, till from my bones, my flesh be hacked. Give me my Armour. 'Tis not needed yet. I'll put it on: Send out more Horses, skirre the Country round, Hang those that talk of Fear. Give me mine Armour: How does your Patient, Doctor? Not so sick my Lord, As she is troubled with thicke-comming Fancies That keep her from her rest. Cure of that: Canst thou not Minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the Memory a rooted Sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the Brain, And with some sweet Oblivious Antidote Cleanse the stuffed bosom, of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart? Therein the Patient Must minister to himself. Throw Physic to the Dogs, I'll none of it. Come, put mine Armour on: give me my Staff: Seyton, send out: Doctor, the Thanes fly from me: Come sir, dispatch. If thou couldst Doctor, cast The Water of my Land, find her Disease, And purge it to a sound and pristine Health, I would applaud thee to the very Echo, That should applaud again. Pull't off I say, What Rhubarb, Cyme, or what Purgative drug Would scour these English hence: hearest thou of them? I my good Lord: your Royal Preparation Makes us hear something. Bring it after me: I will not be afraid of Death and Bane, Till Birnane Forrest come to Dunsinane. Were I from Dunsinane away, and clear, Profit again should hardly draw me here. Cousins, I hope the days are near at hand That Chambers will be safe. We doubt it nothing. What wood is this before us? The wood of Birnane. Let every Soldier hue him down a Bough, And bear't before him, thereby shall we shadow The numbers of our Host, and make discovery Err in report of us. It shall be done. We learn no other, but the confident Tyrant Keeps still in Dunsinane, and will endure Our setting down before't. 'Tis his main hope: For where there is advantage to be given, Both more and less have given him the Revolt, And none serve with him, but constrained things, Whose hearts are absent too.
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)
Go pricke thy face, and ouer-red thy feare Thou Lilly-liuer'd Boy. What Soldiers, Patch? Death of thy Soule, thoſe Linnen cheekes of thine Are Counſailers to feare. What Soldiers Whay-face? The Engliſh Force, ſo pleaſe you. Take thy face hence. Seyton, I am ſick at hart, When I behold: Seyton, I ſay, this puſh Will cheere me euer, or diſ-eate me now. I haue liu'd long enough: my way of life Is falne into the Seare, the yellow Leafe, And that which ſhould accompany Old-Age, As Honor, Loue, Obedience, Troopes of Friends, I muſt not looke to haue: but in their ſteed, Curſes, not lowd but deepe, Mouth-honor, breath Which the poore heart would faine deny, and dare not. Seyton? What's your gracious pleaſure? What Newes more? All is confirm'd my Lord, which was reported. Ile fight, till from my bones, my fleſh be hackt. Giue me my Armor. 'Tis not needed yet. Ile put it on: Send out moe Horſes, skirre the Country round, Hang thoſe that talke of Feare. Giue me mine Armor: How do's your Patient, Doctor? Not ſo ſicke my Lord, As ſhe is troubled with thicke-comming Fancies That keepe her from her reſt. Cure of that: Can'ſt thou not Miniſter to a minde diſeas'd, Plucke from the Memory a rooted Sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the Braine, And with ſome ſweet Obliuious Antidote Cleanſe the ſtufft boſome, of that perillous ſtuffe Which weighes vpon the heart? Therein the Patient Muſt miniſter to himſelfe. Throw Phyſicke to the Dogs, Ile none of it. Come, put mine Armour on: giue me my Staffe: Seyton, ſend out: Doctor, the Thanes flye from me: Come ſir, diſpatch. If thou could'ſt Doctor, caſt The Water of my Land, finde her Diſeaſe, And purge it to a ſound and priſtine Health, I would applaud thee to the very Eccho, That ſhould applaud againe. Pull't off I ſay, What Rubarb, Cyme, or what Purgatiue drugge Would ſcowre theſe Engliſh hence: hear'ſt yu of them? I my good Lord: your Royall Preparation Makes vs heare ſomething. Bring it after me: I will not be affraid of Death and Bane, Till Birnane Forreſt come to Dunſinane. Were I from Dunſinane away, and cleere, Profit againe ſhould hardly draw me heere. Coſins, I hope the dayes are neere at hand That Chambers will be ſafe. We doubt it nothing. What wood is this before vs? The wood of Birnane. Let euery Souldier hew him downe a Bough, And bear't before him, thereby ſhall we ſhadow The numbers of our Hoaſt, and make diſcouery Erre in report of vs. It ſhall be done. We learne no other, but the confident Tyrant Keepes ſtill in Dunſinane, and will indure Our ſetting downe befor't. 'Tis his maine hope: For where there is aduantage to be giuen, Both more and leſſe haue giuen him the Reuolt, And none ſerue with him, but conſtrained things, Whoſe hearts are abſent too.