Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1595 (Annals) tragedy; history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T38 Death, parting and grief at court typicality 0.86 · 542 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
Bring forth these men: Bushie and Greene, I will not vex your souls, (Since presently your souls must part your bodies) With too much urging your pernicious lives, For 'twere no Charity: yet to wash your blood From off my hands, here in the view of men, I will unfold some causes of your deaths. You have misled a Prince, a Royal King, A happy Gentleman in Blood, and Lineaments, By you vnhappied, and disfigured clean: You have in manner with your sinful hours Made a Divorce betwixt his Queen and him, Broke the possession of a Royal Bed, And stained the beauty of a fair Queen's Cheeks, With tears drawn from her eyes, with your foul wrongs. Myself a Prince, by fortune of my birth, near to the King in blood, and near in love, Till you did make him misinterprete me, Have stooped my neck under your injuries, And sighed my English breath in foreign Clouds, Eating the bitter bread of banishment; While you have fed upon my Seignories, Dis-parked my Parks, and felled my Forest Woods; From mine own Windows torn my Household Coat, Razed out my Impress, leaving me no sign, Save men's opinions, and my living blood, To show the World I am a Gentleman. This, and much more, much more than twice all this, Condemns you to the death: see them delivered over To execution, and the hand of death. More welcome is the stroke of death to me, Then Bullingbrooke to England. My comfort is, that Heaven will take our souls, And plague Injustice with the pains of Hell. My Lord Northumberland, see them dispatched: Uncle, you say the Queen is at your House, For Heaven's sake fairly let her be entreated, Tell her I send to her my kind commends; Take special care my Greetings be delivered. A Gentleman of mine I have dispatched With Letters of your love, to her at large. Thanks gentle Uncle: come Lords away, To fight with Glendoure, and his Complices; A while to work, and after holiday. Barkloughly Castle call you this at hand? Yea, my Lord: how brook: your Grace the air, After your late tossing on the breaking Seas? Needs must I like it well: I weep for joy To stand upon my Kingdom once again. Dear Earth, I do salute thee with my hand, Though Rebels wound thee with their Horse's hooves: As a long parted Mother with her Child, Plays fond with her tears, and smiles in meeting; So weeping, smiling, greet I thee my Earth, And do thee favour with my Royal hands. Feed not thy Sovereign's Foe, my gentle Earth, Nor with thy Sweets, comfort his ravenous sense: But let thy Spiders, that suck up thy Venom, And heauie-gated Toads lie in their way, Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet, Which with usurping steps do trample thee. Yield stinging Nettles to mine Enemies; And when they from thy Bosom pluck a Flower, Guard it I prithee with a lurking Adder, Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy Sovereign's Enemies. Mock not my senseless Conjuration, Lords; This Earth shall have a feeling, and these Stones Prove armed Soldiers, ere her Native King Shall falter under foul Rebellious Arms.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1262–1331 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 21 of 43 in this edition
Length
542 words · 733 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T38 — Death, parting and grief at courtcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.858 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T44 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Bring forth theſe men: Buſhie and Greene, I will not vex your ſoules, (Since preſently your ſoules muſt part your bodies) With too much vrging your pernitious liues, For 'twere no Charitie: yet to waſh your blood From off my hands, here in the view of men, I will vnfold ſome cauſes of your deaths. You haue mis-led a Prince, a Royall King, A happie Gentleman in Blood, and Lineaments, By you vnhappied, and disfigur'd cleane: You haue in manner with your ſinfull houres Made a Diuorce betwixt his Queene and him, Broke the poſſeſſion of a Royall Bed, And ſtayn'd the beautie of a faire Queenes Cheekes, With teares drawn frō her eyes, with your foule wrongs. My ſelfe a Prince, by fortune of my birth, Neere to the King in blood, and neere in loue, Till you did make him miſ-interprete me, Haue ſtoopt my neck vnder your iniuries, And ſigh'd my Engliſh breath in forraine Clouds, Eating the bitter bread of baniſhment; While you haue fed vpon my Seignories, Diſ-park'd my Parkes, and fell'd my Forreſt Woods; From mine owne Windowes torne my Houſehold Coat, Raz'd out my Impreſſe, leauing me no ſigne, Saue mens opinions, and my liuing blood, To ſhew the World I am a Gentleman. This, and much more, much more then twice all this, Condemnes you to the death: ſee them deliuered ouer To execution, and the hand of death. More welcome is the ſtroake of death to me, Then Bullingbrooke to England. My comfort is, that Heauen will take our ſoules, And plague Iniuſtice with the paines of Hell. My Lord Northumberland, ſee them diſpatch'd: Vnckle, you ſay the Queene is at your Houſe, For Heauens ſake fairely let her be entreated, Tell her I ſend to her my kind commends; Take ſpeciall care my Greetings be deliuer'd. A Gentleman of mine I haue diſpatch'd With Letters of your loue, to her at large. Thankes gentle Vnckle: come Lords away, To fight with Glendoure, and his Complices; A while to worke, and after holliday. Barkloughly Caſtle call you this at hand? Yea, my Lord: how brook: your Grace the ayre, After your late toſſing on the breaking Seas? Needs muſt I like it well: I weepe for ioy To ſtand vpon my Kingdome once againe. Deere Earth, I doe ſalute thee with my hand, Though Rebels wound thee with their Horſes hoofes: As a long parted Mother with her Child, Playes fondly with her teares, and ſmiles in meeting; So weeping, ſmiling, greet I thee my Earth, And doe thee fauor with my Royall hands. Feed not thy Soueraignes Foe, my gentle Earth, Nor with thy Sweetes, comfort his rauenous ſence: But let thy Spiders, that ſuck vp thy Venome, And heauie-gated Toades lye in their way, Doing annoyance to the trecherous feete, Which with vſurping ſteps doe trample thee. Yeeld ſtinging Nettles to mine Enemies; And when they from thy Boſome pluck a Flower, Guard it I prethee with a lurking Adder, Whoſe double tongue may with a mortall touch Throw death vpon thy Soueraignes Enemies. Mock not my ſenceleſſe Coniuration, Lords; This Earth ſhall haue a feeling, and theſe Stones Proue armed Souldiers, ere her Natiue King Shall falter vnder foule Rebellious Armes.