Shakespeare, William · published 1597 · first performed or written 1595 (Annals) tragedy; history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 495 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me: For now hath time made me his numbering clock; My thoughts are minutes, and with sighs they jar, Their watches on unto mine eyes the outward watch Whereto my finger like a dials point, Is pointing still, in cleansing them from tears. Now sir, the sound that tells what hour it is, Are clamorous groans which strike upon my heart, Which is the bell, so sighs, and tears, and groans, Show minutes, times, and hours: but my time, Runs posting on in Bullingbrokes' proud joy, While I stand fooling here his jack of the clock. This music mads me, let it sound no more, For though it have holp mad men to their wits, In me it seems it will make wise men mad: Yet blessing on his heart that gives it me, For 'tis a sign of love: and love to Richard, Is a strange brooch in this al-hating world. Hail royal Prince. Thanks noble pear: The cheapest of us is ten groats too dear. What art thou, and how comest thou hither, Where no man never comes, but that sad dog, That brings me food to make misfortune live. I was a poor groom of thy stable King, When thou wert King: who travailling towards York, With much ado (at length) have gotten leave, To look upon my sometimes royal masters face: Oh how it ernd my heart when I beheld, In London streets, that Coronation day, When Bullingbroke road on Roan Barbary, That horse, that thou so often hast bestride. That horse, that I so carefully have dressed. Road he on Barbary, tell me gentle friend, How went he under him? So proudly as if he disdained the ground. So proud that Bullingbroke was on his back: That jade hath eat bread from my royal hand, This hand hath made him proud with clapping him: Would he not stumble, would he not fall down Since pride must have a fall; and break the neck, Of that proud man, that did usurp his back? Forgiveness horse why do I rail on thee? Since thou created to be awed by man, Wast borne to bear; I was not made a horse, And yet I bear a burden like an ass, Spurrde, galld, and tired by iauncing Bullingbrooke. Fellow, give place, here is no longer stay. If thou love me, 'tis time thou wert away. What my tongue dares not, that my heart shall say. My Lord, wilt please you to fall to▪ Taste of it first as thou art wont to do. My Lord I dare not, sir Pierce of Exton, Who lately came from the King commands the contrary. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee. Patience is stolen, and I am weary of it. Help, help, help. How now, what means Death in this rude assault? Villain, thy own hand yields thy death's instrument▪ Go thou and fill another room in hell.
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)
I wasted time, and now doth time waste me: For now hath time made me his numbring clocke; My thoughts are minutes, and with sighes they iarre, Their watches on vnto mine eyes the outward watch Whereto my finger like a dialles poynt, Is pointing still, in cleansing them om teares. Now the sound that telles what houre it is, Are clamorous groanes which strike vpon my hart, Which is the bell, so sighs, and teares, and grones, Shew minutes, times, and houres: but my time, Runnes posting on in Bullingbrokes proud ioye, While I stand fooling heere his iacke of the clocke. This musicke maddes me, let it sound no more, For though it haue holp mad men to their witts, In me it seemes it will make wise men mad: Yet blessing on his hart that giues it me, For tis asigne of loue: and loue to Richard, Is a strange brooch in this al-hating world. Haile roiall Prince. Thankes noble peare: The cheapest of vs is ten grotes too deare. What art thou, and how comest thou ither, Where no man neuer comes, but that sad dog, That brings me foode to make misfortune liue. I was a poore groome of thy stable King, When thou wert King: who trauailling towards Yorke, With much adoe (at length) haue gotten leaue, To looke vpon my sometimes roiall maisters face: Oh how it ernd my hart when I beheld, In London streetes, that Corronation day, When Bullingbroke rode on Roane Barbarie, That horse, that thou so often hast bestride. That horse, that I so carefully haue drest. Rode he on Barbarie, tell me gentle freind, How went he vnder him? So proudly as if he disdaind the ground. So proud that Bullingbroke was on his backe: That Iade hath eate bread from my royall hand, This hand hath made him proud with clapping him: Would he not stumble, would he not fall downe Since pride must haue a fal; and breake the necke, Of that prond man, that did vsurpe his backe? Forgiuenes horse why do I raile on thee? Since thou created to be awed by man, Wast borne to beare; I was not made a horse, And yet I beare a burthen like an asse, Spurrde, galld, and tirde by iauncing Bullingbrooke. Fellow, giue place, heere is no longer stay. If thou loue me, tis time thou wert away. What my tong dares not, that my heart shal say. My Lord, wilt please you to fall to▪ Taste of it first as thou art wont to do. My Lord I dare not, fir Pierce of Exton, Who lately came from the King commaunds the contrary. The diuell take Henry of Lancaster, and thee. Patience is stale, and I am wearie of it. Help, help, help. How now, what meanes Death in this rude assault? Villaine, thy owne hand yeelds thy deaths instrument▪ Go thou and fill another roome in hell.