Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1595 (Annals) tragedy; history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T42 English historical figures: a mixed clus typicality 0.73 · 503 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T42: harry, percy, lord, king, god, falstalffe, frances, mowbray, life, mortimer.
Right, you say true: as Herfords love, so his; As theirs, so mine: and all be as it is. My Liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Majesty. What says he? Nay nothing, all is said: His tongue is now a stringless instrument, Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. Be York the next, that must be bankrupt so, Though death be poor, it ends a mortal wo. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he, His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be: So much for that. Now for our Irish wars, We must supplant those rough rug-headed Kerns, Which live like venom, where no venom else But only they, have privilege to live. And for these great affairs do ask some charge Towards our assistance, we do seize to us The plate, coin, revennewes, and movables, Whereof our Uncle Gaunt did stand possessed. How long shall I be patiented? Oh how long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Glousters death, nor Herfords banishment, Nor Gauntes rebukes, nor England's private wrongs, Nor the prevention of poor Bullingbrooke, About his marriage, nor my own disgrace Have ever made me sour my patiented cheek, Or bend one wrinkle on my Sovereign's face: I am the last of noble Edward's sons, Of whom thy Father Prince of Wales was first, In war was never Lion raged more fierce: In peace, was never gentle Lamb more mild, Then was that young and Princely Gentleman, His face thou hast, for even so looked he Accomplished with the number of thy hours: But when he frowned, it was against the French, And not against his friends: his noble hand Did win what he did spend: and spent not that Which his triumphant father's hand had won: His hands were guilty of no kindred's blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin: Oh Richard York is too far gone with grief, Or else he never would compare between. Why Uncle, What's the matter? Oh my Liege, pardon me if you please, if not I pleased not to be pardoned, am content with all: Seek you to seize, and gripe into your hands The Royalties and Rights of banished Herford? Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Herford live? Was not Gaunt just? and is not Harry true? Did not the one deserve to have an heir? Is not his heir a well-deserving son? Take Herfords rights away, and take from time His Charters, and his customary rights: Let not to morrow then ensue to day, Be not thyself. For how art thou a King But by fair sequence and succession? Now afore God, God forbidden I say true, If you do wrongfully seize Herfords right, Call in his Letters Patents that he hath By his Attorneys general, to sue His Livery, and deny his offered homage, You pluck a thousand dangers on your head, You lose a thousand well-disposed hearts, And prick my tender patience to those thoughts Which honour and allegiance cannot think.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 763–828 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 13 of 43 in this edition
Length
503 words · 670 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T42 — English historical figures: a mixed clustercontext only — excluded from the genre comparison · typicality 0.728 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T43 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Right, you ſay true: as Herfords loue, ſo his; As theirs, ſo mine: and all be as it is. My Liege, olde Gaunt commends him to your Maieſtie. What ſayes he? Nay nothing, all is ſaid: His tongue is now a ſtringleſſe inſtrument, Words, life, and all, old Lancaſter hath ſpent. Be Yorke the next, that muſt be bankrupt ſo, Though death be poore, it ends a mortall wo. The ripeſt fruit firſt fals, and ſo doth he, His time is ſpent, our pilgrimage muſt be: So much for that. Now for our Iriſh warres, We muſt ſupplant thoſe rough rug-headed Kernes, Which liue like venom, where no venom elſe But onely they, haue priuiledge to liue. And for theſe great affayres do aske ſome charge▪ Towards our aſsiſtance, we do ſeize to vs The plate, coine, reuennewes, and moueables, Whereof our Vncle Gaunt did ſtand poſſeſt. How long ſhall I be patient? Oh how long Shall tender dutie make me ſuffer wrong? Not Glouſters death, nor Herfords baniſhment, Nor Gauntes rebukes, nor Englands priuate wrongs, Nor the preuention of poore Bullingbrooke, About his marriage, nor my owne diſgrace Haue euer made me ſowre my patient cheeke, Or bend one wrinkle on my Soueraignes face: I am the laſt of noble Edwards ſonnes, Of whom thy Father Prince of Wales was firſt, In warre was neuer Lyon rag'd more fierce: In peace, was neuer gentle Lambe more milde, Then was that yong and Princely Gentleman, His face thou haſt, for euen ſo look'd he Accompliſh'd with the number of thy howrs: But when he frown'd, it was againſt the Frech, And not againſt his friends: hs noble hand Did wn what he did ſpend: and ſpet not that Which his triumphant fathers hand had won: His hands were guilty of no kindreds blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kinne: Oh Richard York is too farre gone with greefe, Or elſe he neuer would compare betweene. Why Vncle, What's the matter? Oh my Liege, pardon me if you pleaſe, if not I pleas'd not to be pardon'd, am content with all: Seeke you to ſeize, and gripe into your hands The Royalties and Rights of baniſh'd Herfod? Is not Gaunt dead? and doth not Herford liue? Was not Gaunt iuſt? and is not arry true? Did not the one deſerue to haue an heyre? Is not his heyre a well-deſeruing ſonne? Take Herfords rights away, and take from time His Charters, and his cuſtomarie rights: Let not to morrow then inſue to day, Be not thy ſelfe. For how art thou a King But by faire ſequence and ſucceſsion? Now afore God, God forbid I ſay true, If you do wrongfully ſeize Herfords right, Call in his Letters Patents that he hath By his Atturneyes generall, to ſue His Liuerie, and denie his offer'd homage, You plucke a thouſand angers on your head, You looſe a thouſand well-diſpoſed hearts, And pricke my tender patience to thoſe thoughts Which honor and allegeance cannnot thinke.