Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1607 [c.1606-1608] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 476 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
This is the man. Avoid, and leave him. Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there, That kills and pains not? Truly I have him: but I would not be the party that should desire you to touch him, for his biting is immortal: those that do dye of it, do seldom or never recover. Remember'st thou any that have died on't? Very many, men and women too. I heard of one of them no longer then yesterday, a very honest woman, but something given to lie, as a woman should not do, but in the way of honesty, how she died of the biting of it, what pain she felt: Truly, she makes a very good report o' th' worm: but he that will believe all that they say, shall never be saved by half that they do: but this is most falliable, the Wormes an odd Worm. Get thee hence, farewell. I wish you all joy of the Worm. Farewell. You must think this (look you,) that the Worm will do his kind. I, I, farewell. Look you, the Worm is not to be trusted, but in the keeping of wise people: for indeed, there is no goodness in the Worm. Take thou no care, it shall be heeded. Very good: give it nothing I pray you, for it is not worth the feeding. Will it eat me? You must not think I am so simple, but I know the devil himself will not eat a woman: I know, that a woman is a dish for the Gods, if the devil dress her not. But truly, these same whoreson devils do the Gods great harm in their women: for in every ten that they make, the devils mar five. Well, get thee gone, farewell. Yes forsooth: I wish you joy o' th' worm. Give me my Robe, put on my Crown, I have Immortal long in me. Now no more The juice of Egypt's Grape shall moist this lip. You're, you're, good Iras; quick: methinks I hear Anthony call: I see him rouse himself To praise my Noble Act. I hear him mock The luck of Caesar, which the Gods give men To excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come: Now to that name, my Courage prove my Title. I am Fire, and Air; my other Elements I give to base life. So, have you done? Come then, and take the last warmth of my Lips. Farewell kind Charmian, Iras, long farewell. Have I the Aspic in my lips? Dost fall? If thou, and Nature can so gently part, The stroke of death is as a Lover's pinch, Which hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie still? If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world, It is not worth leaue-taking. Dissolve thick cloud, & Rain, that I may say The Gods themselves do weep.
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 is the man. Auoid, and leaue him. Haſt thou the pretty worme of Nylus there, That killes and paines not? Truly I haue him: but I would not be the partie that ſhould deſire you to touch him, for his byting is immortall: thoſe that doe dye of it, doe ſeldome or neuer recouer. Remember'ſt thou any that haue dyed on't? Very many, men and women too. I heard of one of them no longer then yeſterday, a very honeſt woman, but ſomething giuen to lye, as a woman ſhould not do, but in the way of honeſty, how ſhe dyed of the byting of it, what paine ſhe felt: Truely, ſhe makes a verie good report o' th' worme: but he that wil beleeue all that they ſay, ſhall neuer be ſaued by halfe that they do: but this is moſt falliable, the Worme's an odde Worme. Get thee hence, farewell. I wiſh you all ioy of the Worme. Farewell. You muſt thinke this (looke you,) that the Worme will do his kinde. I, I, farewell. Looke you, the Worme is not to bee truſted, but in the keeping of wiſe people: for indeede, there is no goodneſſe in the Worme. Take thou no care, it ſhall be heeded. Very good: giue it nothing I pray you, for it is not worth the feeding. Will it eate me? You muſt not think I am ſo ſimple, but I know the diuell himſelfe will not eate a woman: I know, that a woman is a diſh for the Gods, if the diuell dreſſe her not. But truly, theſe ſame whorſon diuels doe the Gods great harme in their women: for in euery tenne that they make, the diuels marre fiue. Well, get thee gone, farewell. Yes forſooth: I wiſh you ioy o' th' worm. Giue me my Robe, put on my Crowne, I haue Immortall longings in me. Now no more The iuyce of Egypts Grape ſhall moyſt this lip. Yare, yare, good Iras; quicke: Me thinkes I heare Anthony call: I ſee him rowſe himſelfe To praiſe my Noble Act. I heare him mock The lucke of Caeſar, which the Gods giue men To excuſe their after wrath. Husband, I come: Now to that name, my Courage proue my Title. I am Fire, and Ayre; my other Elements I giue to baſer life. So, haue you done? Come then, and take the laſt warmth of my Lippes. Farewell kinde Charmian, Iras, long farewell. Haue I the Aſpicke in my lippes? Doſt fall? If thou, and Nature can ſo gently part, The ſtroke of death is as a Louers pinch, Which hurts, and is deſir'd. Doſt thou lye ſtill? If thus thou vaniſheſt, thou tell'ſt the world, It is not worth leaue-taking. Diſſolue thicke clowd, & Raine, that I may ſay The Gods themſelues do weepe.