Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1595 (Annals) tragedy; history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T18 Rebels, barons and the king's wars at ho · 504 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
Mine ear is open, and my heart prepared: The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold: Say, Is my Kingdom loft? why 'twas my Care: And what loss is it to be rid of Care? Strives Bullingbrooke to be as Great as we? Greater he shall not be: If he serve God, we'll serve him too, and be his Fellow so. Revolt our Subjects? That we cannot mend, They break their Faith to God, as well as us: Cry Woe, Destruction, Ruin, Loss, Decay, The worst is Death, and Death will have his day. Glad am I, that your Highness is so armed To bear the tidings of Calamity. Like an unseasonable stormy day, Which make the Silver Rivers drown their Shores, As if the World were all dissolved to tears: So high, above his Limits, swells the Rage Of Bullingbrooke, covering your fearful Land With hard bright Steel, and hearts harder than Steel: White Bears have armed their thin and haireless Scalps Against thy Majesty, and Boys with women's Voices, Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints In stiff unwieldy Arms: against thy Crown Thy very Beadsmen learn to bend their Bows Of double fatal Yew: against thy State Yea Distaffe-Women manage rusty Bills: Against thy Seat both young and old rebel, And all goes worse than I have power to tell. Too well, too well thou tell'st a Tale so ill. Where is the Earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot? What is become of Bushie? where is Green? That they have let the dangerous Enemy Measure our Confines with such peaceful steps? If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it. I warrant they have made peace with Bullingbrooke. Peace have they made with him indeed (my Lord.) Oh Villains, Vipers, damned without redemption, Dogs, easily won to fawn on any man, Snakes in my heart blood-warmed, that sting my heart, Three Iudasses, each one thrice worse than Iudas, Would they make peace? terrible Hell make war Upon their spotted Souls for this Offence. Sweet Love (I see) changing his property, Turns to the sourest, and most deadly hate: Again uncurse their Souls; their peace is made With Heads, and not with Hands: those whom you curse Have felt the worst of Death's destroying hand, And lie full low, graved in the hollow ground. Is Bushie Greene, and the Earl of Wiltshire dead? Yea all of them at Bristol lost their heads. Where is the Duke my Father with his Power? No matter where; of comfort no man speak: Let's talk of Graves, of Worms, and Epitaphs, Make Dust our Paper, and with Raynie eyes Writ Sorrow on the Bosom of the Earth. Let's choose Executors, and talk of Wills: And yet not so; for what can we bequeath, Save our deposed bodies to the ground? Our Lands, our Lives, and all are Bullingbrookes', And nothing can we call our own, but Death, And that small Model of the barren Earth, Which serves as Paste, and Cover to our Bones:
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)
Mine eare is open, and my heart prepar'd: The worſt is worldly loſſe, thou canſt vnfold: Say, Is my Kingdome loft? why 'twas my Care: And what loſſe is it to be rid of Care? Striues Bullingbrooke to be as Great as wee? Greater he ſhall not be: If hee ſerue God, Wee'l ſerue him too, and be his Fellow ſo. Reuolt our Subiects? That we cannot mend, They breake their Faith to God, as well as vs: Cry Woe, Deſtruction, Ruine, Loſſe, Decay, The worſt is Death, and Death will haue his day. Glad am I, that your Highneſſe is ſo arm'd To beare the tidings of Calamitie. Like an vnſeaſonable ſtormie day, Which make the Siluer Riuers drowne their Shores, As if the World were all diſſolu'd to teares: So high, aboue his Limits, ſwells the Rage Of Bullingbrooke, couering your fearefull Land With hard bright Steele, and hearts harder then Steele: White Beares haue arm'd their thin and haireleſſe Scalps Againſt thy Maieſtie, and Boyes with Womens Voyces, Striue to ſpeake bigge, and clap their female ioints In ſtiffe vnweldie Armes: againſt thy Crowne Thy very Beadſ-men learne to bend their Bowes Of double fatall Eugh: againſt thy State Yea Diſtaffe-Women manage ruſtie Bills: Againſt thy Seat both young and old rebell, And all goes worſe then I haue power to tell. Too well, too well thou tell'ſt a Tale ſo ill. Where is the Earle of Wiltſhire? where is Bagot? What is become of Buſhie? where is Greene? That they haue let the dangerous Enemie Meaſure our Confines with ſuch peacefull ſteps? If we preuaile, their heads ſhall pay for it. I warrant they haue made peace with Bullingbrooke. Peace haue they made with him indeede (my Lord.) Oh Villains, Vipers, damn'd without redemption, Dogges, eaſily woon to fawne on any man, Snakes in my heart blood-warm'd, that ſting my heart, Three Iudaſſes, each one thrice worſe then Iudas, Would they make peace? terrible Hell make warre Vpon their ſpotted Soules for this Offence. Sweet Loue (I ſee) changing his propertie, Turnes to the ſowreſt, and moſt deadly hate: Againe vncurſe their Soules; their peace is made With Heads, and not with Hands: thoſe whom you curſe Haue felt the worſt of Deaths deſtroying hand, And lye full low, grau'd in the hollow ground. Is Buſhie Greene, and the Earle of Wiltſhire dead? Yea all of them at Briſtow loſt their heads. Where is the Duke my Father with his Power? No matter where; of comfort no man ſpeake: Let's talke of Graues, of Wormes, and Epitaphs, Make Duſt our Paper, and with Raynie eyes Write Sorrow on the Boſome of the Earth. Let's chuſe Executors, and talke of Wills: And yet not ſo; for what can we bequeath, Saue our depoſed bodies to the ground? Our Lands, our Liues, and all are Bullingbrookes, And nothing can we call our owne, but Death, And that ſmall Modell of the barren Earth, Which ſerues as Paſte, and Couer to our Bones: