Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1595 (Annals) tragedy; history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T42 English historical figures: a mixed clus · 492 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T42: harry, percy, lord, king, god, falstalffe, frances, mowbray, life, mortimer.
Not so: even through the hollow eyes of death, I spy life peering: but I dare not say How near the tidings of our comfort is. Nay let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost ours Be confident to speak Northumberland, We three, are but thyself, and speaking so, Thy words are but as thoughts, therefore be bold. Then thus: I have from Port le Blan A Bay in Britain, received intelligence, That Harry Duke of Herford, Rainald Lord Cobham, That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother Archbishop, late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham Sir Iohn Rainston, Sir Iohn Norberie, Sir Robert Waterton, & Francis Quoint, All these well furnished by the Duke of Britain, With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war Are making hither with all due expedience, And shortly mean to touch our Northern shore: Perhaps they had ere this, but that they stay The first departing of the King for Ireland. If then we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Imp out our drooping Country's broken wing, Redeem from broking pawn the blemished Crown, Wipe off the dust that hides our Sceptres gilded, And make high Majesty look like itself, Away with me in post to Ravenspurgh, But if you faint, as fearing to do so, Stay, and be secret, and myself will go. To horse, to horse, urge doubts to them that fear. Hold out my horse, and I will first be there. Madam, your Majesty is too much sad, You promised when you parted with the King, To lay aside selfe-harming heaviness, And entertain a cheerful disposition. To please the King, I did: to please myself I cannot do it: yet I know no cause Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard; yet again me thinks, Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb Is coming towards me, and my inward soul With nothing trembles, at something it grieves, More than with parting from my Lord the King. Each substance of a grief hath twenty shadows Which shows like grief itself, but is not so: For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears, Divides one thing entire, to many objects, Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon Show nothing but confusion, eyed awry, Distinguish form: so your sweet Majesty Looking awry upon your Lord's departure, Find shapes of grief, more than himself to wail, Which looked on as it is, is naught but shadows Of what it is not: then thrice-gracious Queen, More than your Lord's departure weep not, more's not seen; Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, Which for things true, weep things imaginary. It may be so: but yet my inward soul Persuades me it is otherwise: how ere it be, I cannot but be sad: so heavy sad, As though on thinking on no thought I think, Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
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)
Not ſo: euen through the hollow eyes of death, I ſp life peering: but I dare not ſay How neere the tidings of our comfort is. Nay let vs ſhare thy thoughts, as thou doſt ours Be confident to ſpeake Northumberland, We three, are but thy ſelfe, and ſpeaking ſo, Thy words are but as thoughts, therefore be bold. Then thus: I haue from Port le Blan A Bay in Britaine, receiu'd intelligence, That Harry Duke of Herford, Rainald Lord Cobham, That late broke from the Duke of Exeter, His brother Archbiſhop, late of Canterbury, Sir Thomas Erpingham Sir Iohn Rainſton, Sir Iohn Norberie, Sir Robert Wterton, & Francis Quoint, All theſe well furniſh'd by the Duke of Britaine, With eight tall ſhips, three thouſand men of warre Are making hither with all due expedience, And ſhortly meane to touch our Northerne ſhore: Perhaps they had ere this, but that they ſtay The firſt departing of the King for Ireland. If then we ſhall ſhake off our ſlauiſh yoake, Impe out our drooping Countries broken wing, Redeeme from broaking pawne the blemiſh'd Crowne, Wipe off the duſt that hides our Scepters gilt, And make high Maieſtie looke like it ſelfe, Away with me in poſte to Rauenspurgh, But if you faint, as fearing to do ſo, Stay, and be ſecret, and my ſelfe will go. To horſe, to horſe, vrge doubts to them yt feare. Hold out my horſe, and I will firſt be there. Madam, your Maieſty is too much ſad, You promis'd when you parted with the King, To lay aſide ſelfe-harming heauineſſe, And entertaine a cheerefull diſpoſition. To pleaſe the King, I did: to pleaſe my ſelfe I cannot do it: yet I know no cauſe Why I ſhould welcome ſuch a gueſt as greefe, Saue bidding farewell to ſo ſweet a gueſt As my ſweet Richard; yet againe me thinkes, Some vnborne ſorrow, ripe in fortunes wombe Is comming towards me, and my inward ſoule With nothing trembles, at ſomething it greeues, More then with parting from my Lord the King. Each ſubſtance of a greefe hath twenty ſhadows Which ſhewes like greefe it ſelfe, but is not ſo: For ſorrowes eye, glazed with blinding teares, Diuides one thing intire, to many obiects, Like perſpectiues, which rightly gaz'd vpon Shew nothing but confuſion, ey'd awry, Diſtinguiſh forme: ſo your ſweet Maieſtie Looking awry vpon your Lords departure, Finde ſhapes of greefe, more then himſelfe to waile, Which look'd on as it is, is naught but ſhadowes Of what it is not: then thrice-gracious Queene, More then your Lords departure weep not, more's not ſeene; Or if it be, 'tis with falſe ſorrowes eie, Which for things true, weepe things imaginary. It may be ſo: but yet my inward ſoule Perſwades me it is otherwiſe: how ere it be, I cannot but be ſad: ſo heauy ſad, As though on thinking on no thought I thinke, akes me with heauy nothing faint and ſhrinke.