Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1595 (Annals) tragedy; history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.76 · 506 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
Then, as I said, the Duke, great Bullingbrooke, Mounted upon a hot and fiery Steed, Which his aspiring Rider seemed to know, With slow, but stately pace, kept on his course: While all tongues cried, God save thee Bullingbrooke. You would have thought the very windows spoke, So many greedy looks of young and old, Through Casements darted their desiring eyes Upon his visage: and that all the walls, With painted Imagery had said at once, Iesu preserve thee, welcome Bullingbrooke. Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, Bareheaded, lower than his proud Steeds neck, Bespoke them thus: I thank you Countrymen: And thus still doing, thus he passed along. Alas poor Richard, where rides he the whilst? As in a Theatre, the eyes of men After a well graced Actor leaves the Stage, Are idly bend on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious: Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard: no man cried, God save him: No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home, But dust was thrown upon his Sacred head, Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off, His face still combating with tears and smiles (The badges of his grief and patience) That had not God (for some strong purpose) steeled The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And Barbarism itself have pitied him. But heaven hath a hand in these events, To whose high will we bond our calm contents. To Bullingbrooke, are we sworn Subjects now, Whose State, and Honour, I for aye allow. here comes my son Aumerle. Aumerle that was, But that is lost, for being Richard's Friend. And Madam, you must call him Rutland now: I am in Parliament pledge for his truth, And lasting fealty to the newmade King. Welcome my son: who are the Violets now, That strew the green lap of the new-come Spring? Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not, God knows, I had as lief be none, as one. Well, bear you well in this new-spring of time Lest you be cropped before you come to prime. What news from Oxford? Hold those justs & Triumphs? For aught I know my Lord, they do. You will be there I know. If God prevent not, I purpose so. What Seal is that that hangs without thy bosom? Yea, look'st thou pale? Let me see the Writing. My Lord, 'tis nothing. No matter then who sees it, I will be satisfied, let me see the Writing. I do beseech your Grace to pardon me, It is a matter of small consequence, Which for some reasons I would not have seen. Which for some reason's sir, I mean to see: I fear, I fear. What should you fear? 'Tis nothing but some bond, that he is entered into For gay apparel, against the Triumph. Bound to himself? What doth he with a Bond That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a fool. Boy, let me see the Writing.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 2286–2351 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 37 of 43 in this edition
Length
506 words · 684 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T0 — Court life: dukes, favour and honourcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.762 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: T0 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Then, as I ſaid, the Duke, great Bullingbrooke, Mounted vpon a hot and fierie Steed, Which his aſpiring Rider ſeem'd to know, With ſlow, but ſtately pace, kept on his courſe: While all tongues cride, God ſaue thee Bullingbrooke. You would haue thought the very windowes ſpake, So many greedy lookes of yong and old, Through Caſements darted their deſiring eyes Vpon his viſage: and that all the walles, With painted Imagery had ſaid at once, Ieſu preſerue thee, welcom Bullingbrooke. Whil'ſt he, from one ſide to the other turning, Bare-headed, lower then his proud Steeds necke, Beſpake them thus: I thanke you Countrimen: And thus ſtill doing, thus he paſt along. Alas poore Richard, where rides he the whilſt? As in a Theater, the eyes of men After a well grac'd Actor leaues the Stage, Are idlely bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious: Euen ſo, or with much more contempt, mens eyes Did ſcowle on Richard: no man cride, God ſaue him: No ioyfull tongue gaue him his welcome home, But duſt was throwne vpon his Sacred head, Which with ſuch gentle ſorrow he ſhooke off, His face ſtill combating with teares and ſmiles (The badges of his greefe and patience) That had not God (for ſome ſtrong purpoſe) ſteel'd The hearts of men, they muſt perforce haue melted, And Barbariſme it ſelfe haue pittied him. But heauen hath a hand in theſe euents, To whoſe high will we bound our calme contents. To Bullingbrooke, are we ſworne Subiects now, Whoſe State, and Honor, I for aye allow. Heere comes my ſonne Aumerle. Aumerle that was, But that is loſt, for being Richards Friend. And Madam, you muſt call him Rutland now: I am in Parliament pledge for his truth, And laſting fealtie to the new-made King. Welcome my ſonne: who are the Violets now, That ſtrew the greene lap of the new-come Spring? Madam, I know not, nor I greatly care not, God knowes, I had as liefe be none, as one. Well, beare you well in this new-ſpring of time Leaſt you be cropt before you come to prime. What newes from Oxford? Hold thoſe Iuſts & Triumphs? For ought I know my Lord, they do. You will be there I know. If God preuent not, I purpoſe ſo. What Seale is that that hangs without thy boſom? Yea, look'ſt thou pale? Let me ſee the Writing. My Lord, 'tis nothing. No matter then who ſees it, I will be ſatisfied, let me ſee the Writing. I do beſeech your Grace to pardon me, It is a matter of ſmall conſequence, Which for ſome reaſons I would not haue ſeene. Which for ſome reaſons ſir, I meane to ſee: I feare, I feare. What ſhould you feare? 'Tis nothing but ſome bond, that he is enter'd into For gay apparrell, againſt the Triumph. Bound to himſelfe? What doth he with a Bond That he is bound to? Wife, thou art a foole. Boy, let me ſee the Writing.