Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1595 (Annals) tragedy; history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T18 Rebels, barons and the king's wars at ho typicality 0.77 · 544 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
Heaven for his mercy, what a tide of woes Come rushing on this woeful Land at once? I know not what to do: I would to heaven (So my untruth had not provoked him to it) The King had cut off my head with my brothers. What, are there posts dispatched for Ireland? How shall we do for money for these wars? Come sister (Cousin I would say) pray pardon me. Go fellow, get thee home, poovide some Carts, And bring away the Armour that is there. Gentlemen, will you muster men? If I know how, or which way to order these affairs Thus disorderly thrust into my hands, Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen, Th' one is my Sovereign, whom both my oath And duty bids defend: th' other again Is my kinsman, whom the King hath wronged, Whom conscience, and my kindred bids to right: Well, somewhat we must do: Come Cousin, I'll dispose of you. Gentlemen, go muster up your men, And meet me presently at Barkley Castle: I should to Plashy too: but time will not permit, All is uneven, and every thing is left at six and seven. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ireland, But none returns: For us to levy power Proportionable to th' enemy, is all impossible. Besides our nearness to the King in love, Is near the hate of those love not the King. And that's the wavering Commons, for their love Lies in their purses, and who so empties them, By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. Wherein the king stands generally condemned If judgement lie in them, than so do we, Because we have been ever near the King. Well: I will for refuge strait to Bristol Castle, The Earl of Wiltshire is already there. Thither will I with you, for little office Will the hateful Commons perform for us, Except like Curs, to tear us all in pieces: Will you go along with us? No; I will to Ireland to his Majesty: Farewell, if hearts presages be not vain, We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. That's as York thrives to beat back Bullinbroke Alas poor Duke, the task he undertakes I numbring sands, and drinking Oceans drie, Where one on his side sights, thousands will fly. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and ever. Well, we may meet again. I fear me never. How far is it my Lord to Berkley now? Believe me noble Lord, I am a stranger here in Gloustershire, These high wild hills, and rough uneeven ways, Draws out our miles, and makes them wearisome: And yet our fair discourse hath been as sugar, Making the hard way sweet and delectable: But I bethink me, what a weary way From Ravenspurgh to Cottshold will be found, In Rosse and Willoughby, wanting your company, Which I protest hath very much beguiled The tediousness, and process of my travel: But theirs is sweetened with the hope to have The present benefit that I possess; And hope to joy, is little less in joy, Then hope enjoyed: By this, the weary Lords Shall make their way seem short, as mine hath done, By sight of what I have, your Noble Company.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1017–1084 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 17 of 43 in this edition
Length
544 words · 725 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T18 — Rebels, barons and the king's wars at homecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.771 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
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)
Heau'n for his mercy, what a tide of woes Come ruſhing on this wofull Land at once? I know not what to do: I would to heauen (So my vntruth had not prouok'd him to it) The King had cut off my head with my brothers. What, are there poſtes diſpatcht for Ireland? How ſhall we do for money for theſe warres? Come ſiſter (Cozen I would ſay) pray pardon me. Go fellow, get thee home, poouide ſome Carts, And bring away the Armour that is there. Gentlemen, will you muſter men? If I know how, or which way to order theſe affaires Thus diſorderly thruſt into my hands, Neuer beleeue me. Both are my kinſmen, Th' one is my Soueraigne, whom both my oath And dutie bids defend: th' other againe Is my kinſman, whom the King hath wrong'd, Whom conſcience, and my kindred bids to right: Well, ſomewhat we muſt do: Come Cozen, Ile diſpoſe of you. Gentlemen, go muſter vp your men, And meet me preſently at Barkley Caſtle: I ſhould to Plaſhy too: but time will not permit, All is vneuen, and euery thing is left at ſix and ſeuen. The winde ſits faire for newes to go to Ireland, But none returnes: For vs to leuy power Proportionable to th' enemy, is all impoſsible. Beſides our neereneſſe to the King in loue, Is neere the hate of thoſe loue not the King. And that's the wauering Commons, for their loue Lies in their purſes, and who ſo empties them, By ſo much fils their hearts with deadly hate. Wherein the king ſtands generally condemn'd If iudgement lye in them, then ſo do we, Becauſe we haue beene euer neere the King. Well: I will for refuge ſtraight to Briſtoll Caſtle, The Earle of Wiltſhire is alreadie there. Thither will I with you, for little office Will the hatefull Commons performe for vs, Except like Curres, to teare vs all in peeces: Will you go along with vs? No; I will to Ireland to his Maieſtie: Farewell, if hearts preſages be not vaine, We three here part, that neu'r ſhall meete againe. That's as Yorke thriues to beate back Bullinbroke Alas poore Duke, the taske he vndertakes I numbring ſands, and drinking Oceans drie, Where one on his ſide ſights, thouſands will flye. Farewell at once, for once, for all, and euer. Well, we may meete againe. I feare me neuer. How farre is it my Lord to Berkley now? Beleeue me noble Lord, I am a ſtranger heere in Glouſterſhire, Theſe high wilde hlles, and rough vneeuen waies, Drawes out our miles, and makes them weariſome: And yet our faire diſcourſe hath beene as ſugar, Making the hard way ſweet and delectable: But bethinke me, what a wearie way From Rauenſpurgh to Cottſhold will be found, In Roſſe and Willoughby, wanting your companie, Which I proteſt hath very much beguild The tediouſneſſe, and proceſſe of my trauell: But theirs is ſweetned with the hope to haue The preſent benefit that I poſſeſſe; And hope to ioy, is little leſſe in ioy, Then hope enioy'd: By this, the wearie Lords Shall make their way ſeeme ſhort, as mne hath done, By ſight of what I haue, your Noble Companie.