Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1609 [c.1608-1611] (Annals) romance · King's Men unassigned nearest T48 Addressing a lady: love, desire and inti · 507 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T48: lady, love, heart, fair, eyes, la, lord, tears, fie, face.
'Tis certain she is fled: Go in and cheer the King, he rages, none Dare come about him. All the better: may This night forestall him of the coming day. I love, and hate her: for she's Fair and Royal, And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite Than Lady, Ladies', Woman, from every one The best she hath, and she of all compounded Out-selles them all. I love her therefore, but Disdaining me, and throwing Favours on The low Posthumus, slanders so her judgement, That what's else rare, is choked: and in that point I will conclude to hate her, nay indeed, To be revenged upon her. For, when Fools shall— Who is here? What, are you packing sirrah? Come hither: Ah you precious Pander, Villain, Where is thy Lady? In a word, or else Thou art straightway with the Fiends. Oh, good my Lord. Where is thy Lady? Or, by Iupiter, I will not ask again. Close Villain, I'll have this Secret from thy heart, or rip Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus? From whose so many weights of baseness, cannot A dram of worth be drawn. Alas, my Lord, How can she be with him? When was she missed? He is in Rome. Where is she Sir? Come nearer: No farther halting: satisfy me home, What is become of her? Oh, my allworthy Lord. Allworthy Villain, Discover where thy Mistress is, at once, At the next word: no more of worthy Lord: Speak, or thy silence on the instant, is Thy condemnation, and thy death. Then Sir: This Paper is the history of my knowledge Touching her flight. Let's see't: I will pursue her Even to Augustus' Throne. Or this, or perish. She's far enough, and what he learns by this, May prove his travel, not her danger. Humh. I'll write to my Lord she's dead: Oh Imogen, Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again. Sirrah, is this Letter true? Sir, as I think. It is Posthumus hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a Villain, but do me true service: undergo those Employments wherein I should have cause to use thee with a serious industry, that is, what villainy soe'er I bid thee do to perform it, directly and truly, I would think thee an honest man: thou shouldst neither want my means for thy relief, nor my voice for thy preferment. Well, my good Lord. Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck to the bare Fortune of that Beggar Posthumus, thou canst not in the course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou serve me? Sir, I will. Give me thy hand, here's my purse. Hast any of thy late Master's Garments in thy possession? I have (my Lord) at my Lodging, the same Suit he wore, when he took leave of my Lady & Mistress. The first service thou dost me, fetch that Suit hither, let it be thy first service, go. I shall my Lord.
seed 43: T31 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
'Tis certaine ſhe is fled: Go in and cheere the King, he rages, none Dare come about him. All the better: may This night fore-ſtall him of the comming day. I loue, and hate her: for ſhe's Faire and Royall, And that ſhe hath all courtly parts more exquiſite Then Lady, Ladies, Woman, from euery one The beſt ſhe hath, and ſhe of all compounded Out-ſelles them all. I loue her therefore, but Diſdaining me, and throwing Fauours on The low Poſthumus, ſlanders ſo her iudgement, That what's elſe rare, is choak'd: and in that point I will conclude to hate her, nay indeede, To be reueng'd vpon her. For, when Fooles ſhall— Who is heere? What, are you packing ſirrah? Come hither: Ah you precious Pandar, Villaine, Where is thy Lady? In a word, or elſe Thou art ſtraightway with the Fiends. Oh, good my Lord. Where is thy Lady? Or, by Iupiter, I will not aske againe. Cloſe Villaine, Ile haue this Secret from thy heart, or rip Thy heart to finde it. Is ſhe with Poſthumus? From whoſe ſo many waights of baſeneſſe, cannot A dram of worth be drawne. Alas, my Lord, How can ſhe be with him? When was ſhe miſs'd? He is in Rome▪ Where is ſhe Sir? Come neerer: No farther halting: ſatisfie me home, What is become of her? Oh, my all-worthy Lord. All-worthy Villaine, Diſcouer where thy Miſtris is, at once, At the next word: no more of worthy Lord: Speake, or thy ſilence on the inſtant, is Thy condemnation, and thy death. Then Sir: This Paper is the hiſtorie of my knowledge Touching her flight. Let's ſee't: I will purſue her Euen to Auguſtus Throne. Or this, or periſh. She's farre enough, and what he learnes by this, May proue his trauell, not her danger. Humh. Ile write to my Lord ſhe's dead: Oh Imogen, Safe mayſt thou wander, ſafe returne agen. Sirra, is this Letter true? Sir, as I thinke. It is Poſthumus hand, I know't. Sirrah, if thou would'ſt not be a Villain, but do me true ſeruice: vndergo thoſe Imployments wherin I ſhould haue cauſe to vſe thee with a ſerious induſtry, that is, what villainy ſoere I bid thee do to performe it, directly and truely, I would thinke thee an honeſt man: thou ſhould'ſt neither want my meanes for thy releefe, nor my voyce for thy preferment. Well, my good Lord. Wilt thou ſerue mee? For ſince patiently and conſtantly thou haſt ſtucke to the bare Fortune of that Begger Poſthumus, thou canſt not in the courſe of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou ſerue mee? Sir, I will. Giue mee thy hand, heere's my purſe. Haſt any of thy late Maſters Garments in thy poſſeſſion? I haue (my Lord) at my Lodging, the ſame Suite he wore, when he tooke leaue of my Ladie & Miſtreſſe. The firſt ſeruice thou doſt mee, fetch that Suite hither, let it be thy firſt ſeruice, go. I ſhall my Lord.