Shakespeare, William · published 1597 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1592] (Annals) tragedy; history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) T38 Death, parting and grief at court typicality 0.85 · 508 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.
As little joy my Lord as you suppose You should enjoy, were you this country's King, As little joy may you suppose in me, That I enjoy being the Queen thereof. A little joy enjoys the Queen thereof, For I am she and altogether joyless. I can no longer hold me patiented: Hear me you wrangling Pirates that fall out, In sharing that which you have piled from me: Which of you trembles not that looks on me? If not, that I being Queen you bow like subjects, Yet that by you deposed you quake like rebels: O gentle villain do not turn away. Fowl wrinkled witch what mak'st thou in my sight? But repetition of what thou hast marred, That will'I make before I let thee go: A husband and a son thou owest to me, And thou a kingdom, all of you allegiance: The sorrow that I have by right is yours, And all the pleasures you usurp are mine. The curse my noble father laid on thee, When thou didst crown his warlike brows with paper, And with thy scorn drewest rivers from his eyes, And then to dry them gauest the Duke a clout, Steeped in the faultless blood of pretty Rutland: His curses then from bitterness of soul Denounst, against thee, are all fallen upon thee, And God, not we, hath plagued thy bloody deed. So just is God to right the innocent. O ttwas the foulest deed to slay that babe, And the most merciless that ever was heard of. Tyrants themselves wept when it was reported. No man but prophesied revenge for it. Northumberland then present wept to see it. What? were you snarling all before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turn you all your hatred now on me? Did York's dread curse prevail so much with heaven, That Henry's death my lovely Edward's death, Their kingdoms loss, my woeful banishment, Can all but answer for that peevish brat? Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heaven? Why then give way dull clouds to my quick curses: If not, by war, by surfeit die your King, As ours by murder to make him a King. Edward thy son which now is Prince of Wales, For Edward my son which was Prince of Wales, Die in his youth by like untimely violence, Thyself a Queen, for me that was a Queen, Outlive thy glory like my wretched self: Long mayest thou live to wail thy children's loss, And see another as I see thee now Decked in thy rights, as thou art stalled in mine: Long die thy happy days before thy death, And after many lengthened hours of grief, Die neither mother, wife, nor England's Queen: Rivers and Dorset you were standers by, And so wast thou Lo: Hastings when my son Was stabbed with bloody daggers, god I pray him, That none of you may live your natural age, But by some unlooked accident cut off. Have done thy charm thou hateful withered hag.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 572–633 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 10 of 54 in this edition
Length
508 words · 649 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T38 — Death, parting and grief at courtcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.847 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T44 · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
As little ioy my Lord as you suppose You should enioy, were you this countries King, As little ioy may you suppose in me, That I enioy being the Queene thereof. A little ioy enioies the Queene thereof, For I am she and altogether ioylesse. I can no longer hold me patient: Heae me you wrangling Pyrats that fall out, In sharing that which you haue pild from me: Which of you trembles not that lookes on me? If not, that I being Queene you bow like subiects, Yet that by you deposde you quake like rebels: O gentle villaine doe not turne away. Foule wrinckled witch what makst thou in my sight? But repetition of what thou hast mard, That will'I make before I let thee go: A husband and a son thou owest to me, And thou a kingdome, all of you allegeance: The sorrow that I haue by right is yours, And all the pleasures you vsurpe are mine. The curse my noble father laid on thee, When thou didst crowne his warlike browes with paper, And with thy scorne drewst riuers from his eies, And then to drie them gaust the Duke a clout, Steept in the faultlesse bloud of pretty Rutland: His curses then from bitternes of soule Denounst, against thee, are all fallen vpon thee, And God, not we, hath plagde thy bloudy deede. So iust is God to right the innocent. O twas the foulest deede to slaie that babe, And the most mercilesse that euer was heard of. Tyrants themselues wept when it was reported. No man but prophecied reuenge for it. Northumberland then present wept to see it. What? were you snarling all before I came, Ready to catch each other by the throat, And turne you all your hatred now on me? Did Yorkes dread curse preuaile so much with heauen, That Henries death my louely Edwards death, Their kingdomes losse, my wofull banishment, Could all but answere for that peeuish brat? Can curses pierce the clouds and enter heauen? Why then giue way dull cloudes to my quicke curses: If not, by war, by surfet die your King, As ours by murder to make him a King. Edward thy sonne which now is Prince of Wales, For Edward my sonne which was Prince of Wales, Die in his youth by like vntimely violence, Thy selfe a Queene, for me that was a Queene, Outliue thy glory like my wretched selfe: Long maiest thou liue to waile thy childrens losse, And see another as I see thee now Deckt in thy rights, as thou art stald in mine: Long die thy happy daies before thy death, And after many lengthened houres of griefe, Die neither mother, wife, nor Englands Queene: Riuers and Dorset you were standers by, And so wast thou Lo: Hastings when my sonne Was stabd with bloudy daggers, god I pray him, That none of you may liue your naturall age, But by some vnlookt accident cut off. Haue done thy charme thou hatefull withred hag.