Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1609 [c.1608-1611] (Annals) romance · King's Men unassigned nearest T40 Sin, guilt and violent loss within famil · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T40: brother, death, life, die, heaven, sin, live, father, blood, soul.
Why, worthy Father, what have we to lose, But that he swore to take, our Lives? the Law Protects not us, then why should we be tender, To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us? Play judge, and Executioner, all himself? For we do fear the Law. What company Discover you abroad? No single soul Can we set eye on: but in all safe reason He must have some Attendants. Though his Honour Was nothing but mutation, I, and that From one bad thing to worse: Not Frenzy, Not absolute madness could so far have raved To bring him here alone: although perhaps It may be heard at Court, that such as we Cave here, hunt here, are Outlaws, and in time May make some stronger head, the which he hearing, (As it is like him) might break out, and swear Heeled fetch us in, yet is't not probable To come alone, either he so undertaking, Or they so suffering: then on good ground we fear, If we do fear this Body hath a tail More perilous than the head. Let Ordinance Come as the Gods foresay it: howsoe'er, My Brother hath done well. I had no mind To hunt this day: The Boy Fideles sickness Did make my way long forth. With his own Sword, Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta'en His head from him: I'll throw it into the Creek Behind our Rock, and let it to the Sea, And tell the Fishes, he's the Queen's Son, Cloten, That's all I reak. I fear 'twill be revenged: Would (Polidore) thou hadst not done it: though valour Becomes thee well enough. Would I had done it: So the Revenge alone pursued me: Polidore I love thee brotherly, but envy much Thou hast robbed me of this deed: I would Revenges That possible strength might meet, would seek us through And put us to our answer. Well, 'tis done: we'll hunt no more to day, nor seek for danger Where there's no profit. I prithee to our Rock, You and Fidele play the Cooks: I'll stay Till hasty Polidore return, and bring him To dinner presently. Poor sick Fidele. I'll willingly to him, to gain his colour, I'd let a parish of such Cloten's blood, And praise myself for charity. Oh thou Goddess, Thou divine Nature; thou thyself thou blazonest In these two Princely Boys: they are as gentle As Zephyr's blowing below the Violet, Not wagging his sweet head; and yet, as rough (Their Royal blood enchafed) as the rud'st wind, That by the top doth take the Mountain Pine, And make him stoop to th' Vale. 'Tis wonder That an invisible instinct should frame them To Royalty unlearned, Honour untaught, Civility not seen from other: valour That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop As if it had been sewed: yet still it's strange What Cloten's being here to us portends, Or what his death will bring us.
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)
Why, worthy Father, what haue we to looſe, But that he ſwore to take, our Liues? the Law Protects not vs, then why ſhould we be tender, To let an arrogant peece of fleſh threat vs? Play Iudge, and Executioner, all himſelfe? For we do feare the Law. What company Diſcouer you abroad? No ſingle ſoule Can we ſet eye on: but in all ſafe reaſon He muſt haue ſome Attendants. Though his Honor Was nothing but mutation, I, and that From one bad thing to worſe: Not Frenzie, Not abſolute madneſſe could ſo farre haue rau'd To bring him heere alone: although perhaps It may be heard at Court, that ſuch as wee Caue heere, hunt heere, are Out-lawes, and in time May make ſome ſtronger head, the which he hearing, (As it is like him) might breake out, and ſweare Heel'd fetch vs in, yet is't not probable To come alone, either he ſo vndertaking, Or they ſo ſuffering: then on good ground we feare, If we do feare this Body hath a taile More perillous then the head. Let Ord'nance Come as the Gods fore-ſay it: howſoere, My Brother hath done well. I had no minde To hunt this day: The Boy Fideles ſickeneſſe Did make my way long forth. With his owne Sword, Which he did waue againſt my throat, I haue tane His head from him: Ile throw 't into the Creeke Behinde our Rocke, and let it to the Sea, And tell the Fiſhes, hee's the Queenes Sonne, Cloten, That's all I reake. I feare 'twill be reueng'd: Would (Polidore) thou had'ſt not done 't: though valour Becomes thee well enough. Would I had done 't: So the Reuenge alone purſu'de me: Polidore I loue thee brotherly, but enuy much Thou haſt robb'd me of this deed: I would Reuenges That poſſible ſtrength might meet, wold ſeek vs through And put vs to our anſwer. Well, 'tis done: Wee'l hunt no more to day, nor ſeeke for danger Where there's no profit. I prythee to our Rocke, You and Fidele play the Cookes: Ile ſtay Till haſty Polidore returne, and bring him To dinner preſently. Poore ſicke Fidele. Ile willingly to him, to gaine his colour, Il'd let a pariſh of ſuch Clotens blood, And praiſe my ſelfe for charity. Oh thou Goddeſſe, Thou diuine Nature; thou thy ſelfe thou blazon'ſt In theſe two Princely Boyes: they are as gentle As Zephires blowing below the Violet, Not wagging his ſweet head; and yet, as rough (Their Royall blood enchaf'd) as the rud'ſt winde, That by the top doth take the Mountaine Pine, And make him ſtoope to th' Vale. 'Tis wonder That an inuiſible inſtinct ſhould frame them To Royalty vnlearn'd, Honor vntaught, Ciuility not ſeene from other: valour That wildely growes in them, but yeelds a crop As if it had beene fow'd: yet ſtill it's ſtrange What Clotens being heere to vs portends, Or what his death will bring vs.