Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1609 [c.1608-1611] (Annals) romance · King's Men T25 Kings, power and law: political sententi typicality 0.76 · 551 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T25: feare, kings, power, princes, lawes, loue, state, downe, honor, men.
A goodly day, not to keep house with such, Whose roof's as low as ours: Sleep Boys, this gate Instructs you how t'adore the Heavens; and bows you To a morning's holy office. The Gates of Monarches Are Arched so high, that Giants may jet through And keep their impious Turbonds on, without Good morrow to the Sun. Hail thou fair Heaven, We house i' th' Rock, yet use thee not so hardly As prouder livers do. Hail Heaven. Hail Heaven. Now for our Mountain sport, up to yond hill Your legs are young: I'll tread these Flats. Consider, When you above perceive me like a Crow, That it is Place, which lessen's, and sets off, And you may then revolve what Tales, I have told you, Of Courts, of Princes; of the Tricks in War. This Service, is not Service; so being done, But being so allowed. To apprehend thus, Draws us a profit from all things we see: And often to our comfort, shall we find The sharded-Beetle, in a safer hold Than is the full-winged Eagle. Oh this life, Is Nobler, then attending for a check: Richer, then doing nothing for a Babe: Prouder, then rustling in unpayd-for Silk: Such gain the Cap of him, that makes him fine, Yet keeps his Book vncros'd: no life to ours. Out of your proof you speak: we poor vnfledg'd Have never winged from view o' th' nest; nor knows not What air's from home. Haply this life is best, (If quiet life be best) sweeter to you That have a sharper known. Well corresponding With your stiff Age; but unto us, it is A Cell of Ignorance: travailing a bed, A Prison, or a Debtor, that not dares To stride a limit. What should we speak of When we are old as you? When we shall hear The Rain and wind beat dark December? How In this our pinching Cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing: We are beastly; subtle as the Fox for prey, Like warlike as the Wolf, for what we eat: Our Valour is to chase what flies: Our Cage We make a Quite, as doth the prisoned Bird, And sing our Bondage freely. How you speak. Did you but know the City's Usuries, And felt them knowingly: the Art o' th' Court, As hard to leave, as keep: whose top to climb Is certain falling: or so slippery, that The fear's as bad as falling. The toil o' th' War, A pain that only seems to seek out danger I' th' name of Fame and Honour, which dies i' th' search, And hath as oft a slanderous Epitaph, As Record of fair Act. Nay, many times Doth ill deserve, by doing well: what's worse Must curtsy at the Censure. Oh Boys, this Story The World may read in me: My body's marked With Roman Swords; and my report, was once First, with the best of Note. Cymbeline loved me, And when a Soldier was the Theme, my name Was not far off: then was I as a Tree Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But in one night, A Storm, or Robbery (call it what you will) shook down my mellow hangings: nay my Leaves, And left me bare to weather.
seed 43: T25 · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
A goodly day, not to keepe houſe with ſuch, Whoſe Roofe's as lowe as ours: Sleepe Boyes, this gate Inſtructs you how t'adore the Heauens; and bowes you To a mornings holy office. The Gates of Monarches Are Arch'd ſo high, that Giants may et through And keepe their impious Turbonds on, without Good morrow to the Sun. Haile thou faire Heauen, We houſe i' th' Rocke, yet vſe thee not ſo hardly As prouder liuers do. Haile Heauen. Haile Heauen. Now for our Mountaine ſport, vp to yond hill Your legges are yong: Ile tread theſe Flats. Conſider, When you aboue perceiue me like a Crow, That it is Place, which leſſen's, and ſets off, And you may then reuolue what Tales, I haue told you, Of Courts, of Princes; of the Tricks in Warre. This Seruice, is not Seruice; ſo being done, But being ſo allowed. To apprehend thus, Drawes vs a profit from all things we ſee: And oſten to our comfort, ſhall we finde The ſharded-Beetle, in a ſafer hold Then is the full-wing'd Eagle. Oh this life, Is Nobler, then attending for a checke: Richer, then doing nothing for a Babe: Prouder, then ruſtling in vnpayd-for Silke: Such gaine the Cap of him, that makes him fine, Yet keepes his Booke vncros'd: no life to ours. Out of your proofe you ſpeak: we poore vnfledg'd Haue neuer wing'd from view o' th' neſt; nor knowes not What Ayre's from home. Hap'ly this life is beſt, (If quiet life be beſt) ſweeter to you That haue a ſharper knowne. Well correſponding With your ſtiffe Age; but vnto vs, it is A Cell of Ignorance: trauailing a bed, A Priſon, or a Debtor, that not dares To ſtride a limit. What ſhould we ſpeake of When we are old as you? When we ſhall heare The Raine and winde beate darke December? How In this our pinching Caue, ſhall we diſcourſe The freezing houres away? We haue ſeene nothing: We are beaſtly; ſubtle as the Fox for prey, Like warlike as the Wolfe, for what we eate: Our Valour is to chace what flyes: Our Cage We make a Quite, as doth the priſon'd Bird, And ſing our Bondage freely. How you ſpeake. Did you but know the Citties Vſuries, And felt them knowingly: the Art o' th' Court, As hard to leaue, as keepe: whoſe top to climbe Is certaine falling: or ſo ſlipp'ry, that The feare's as bad as falling. The toyle o' th' Warre, A paine that onely ſeemes to ſeeke out danger I' th' name of Fame and Honor, which dyes i' th' ſearch, And hath as oft a ſland'rous Epitaph, As Record of faire Act. Nay, many times Doth ill deſerue, by doing well: what's worſe Muſt curt'ſie at the Cenſure. Oh Boyes, this Storie The World may reade in me: My bodie's mark'd With Roman Swords; and my report, was once Firſt, with the beſt of Note. Cymbeline lou'd me, And when a Souldier was the Theame, my name Was not farre off: then was I as a Tree Whoſe boughes did bend with fruit. But in one night, A Storme, or Robbery (call it what you will) Shooke downe my mellow hangings: nay my Leaues, And left me bare to weather.