Shakespeare, William · published 1597 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1592] (Annals) tragedy; history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) T42 English historical figures: a mixed clus typicality 0.82 · 506 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T42: harry, percy, lord, king, god, falstalffe, frances, mowbray, life, mortimer.
Bad news my lord, Ely is fled to Richmond, And Buckingham backed with the hardy Welshmen, Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. Ely with Richmond troubles me more near Than Buckingham and his rash levied army: Come I have heard that fearful commenting, Is leaden servitor to dull delay, Delay leads impotent and snaile●pact beggary, Then fiery expedition be my wing, Ioues Mercury and Herald for a king: Come muster men, my counsel is my shield, We must be brief when traitor▪ brave the field. So now prosperity begins to mellow And drop into the rotten mouth of Death: Here in these confines slily have I lurked, To watch the waning of mine adversaries: A dire induction am I witness to, And will to France, hoping the consequence Will prove as bitter, blalcke and tragical. Withdraw thee wretched Margaret, who comes here? Ah my young princes, ah my tender babes! My unblown flowers, new appearing sweets, If yet your gentle souls fly in the air And be not fixed in doom perpetual, Hover about me with your airy wings, And hear your mother's lamentation. Hover about her, say that right for right, Hath dimmed your infant morn, to aged night. Wilt thou, O God, fly from such gentle lambs, And throw them in the entrails of the Wolf: When didst thou sleep when such a deed was done? When holy Harry died, and my sweet son. Blind sight, dead life, poor mortal living ghost, Woes scene, world's shame, graves due by life usurped, Rest thy unrest on England's lawful earth, Vnlawfullie made drunk with innocents blood▪ O that thou wouldst aswell afford a grave, As thou canst yield a melancholy seat, Then would▪ I hide my bones, not rest them here: O who hath any cause to mourn but I! So many miseries have crazd my voice That my woe-wearied tongue is mute and dumb. Edward Plantagenet, why art thou dead? If ancient sorrow be most reverent, Give mine the benefit of signory, And let my woes frown on the upper hand, If sorrow can admit society, Tell over your woes again by viewing mine, I had an Edward, till a Richard killed him: I had a Richard, till a Ricard killed him: Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard killed him: Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard killed him. I had a Richard to, and thou didst kill him: I had a Rutland to, thou hopest to kill him. Thou hadst a Clarence to, and Richard killed him: From forth the kennel of thy womb hath crept, A hellhound that doth hunt us all to death, That dog, that had his teeth before his eyes, To worry lambs, and lap their gentle bloods, That foul defacer of God's handy work, Thy womb let lose, to chase us to our graves, O upright, just, and true disposing God, How do I thank thee, that this carnal cur, Prays on the issue of his mother's body, And makes her puefellow with others moan.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 2473–2537 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 40 of 54 in this edition
Length
506 words · 684 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T42 — English historical figures: a mixed clustercontext only — excluded from the genre comparison · typicality 0.824 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T43 · seed 44: T43 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Bad newes my lord, Ely is fled to Richmond, And Buckingham backt with the hardie Welchmen, Is in the field, and still his power increaseth. Ely with Richmond troubles me more neare Then Buckingham and his rash leuied armie: Come I haue heard that feareful commenting, Is leaden seruitour to dull delaie, Delaie leades impotent and snailepact beggerie, Then fierie expedition be my wing, Ioues Mercurie and Herald for a king: Come muster men, my counsaile is my shield, We must be briefe when traitor▪ braue the field. So now prosperitie begins to mellow And drop into the rotten mouth of Death: Here in these confines slilie haue I lurkt, To watch the waining of mine aduersaries: A dire induction am I witnesse to, And wil to Fraunce, hoping the consequence Wil prooue as bitter, blalcke and tragical. Withdraw thee wretched Margaret, who comes here? Ah my young princes, ah my tender babes! My vnblowne flowers, new appearing sweets, If yet your gentle soules fli in the ayre And be not fixt in doome perpetual, Houer about me with your aierie winges, And heare your mothers lamentation. Houer about her, saie that right for right, Hath dimd your infant morne, to aged night. Wilt thou, O God, flie from such gentle lambes, And throw them in the intrailes of the Wolfe: When didst thou sleepe when such a deed was done? When holie Harry died, and my sweet sonne. Blind sight, dead life, poore mortal liuing ghost, Woes sceane, worlds shame, graues due by life vsurpt, Rest thy vnrest on Englands lawful earth, Vnlawfulli made drunk with innocents bloud▪ O that thou wouldst aswel affoord a graue, As thou canst yeeld a melancholie seate, Then would▪ I hide my bones, not rest them here: O who hath anie cause to mourne but I! So manie miseries haue crazd my voice That my woe-wearied toong is mute and dumbe. Edward Plantagenet, whie art thou dead? If ancient sorrow be most reuerent, Giue mine the benefite of signorie, And let my woes frowne on the vpper hand, If sorrow can admitte societie, Tell ouer your woes againe by vewing mine, I had an Edward, till a Richard kild him: I had a Richard, till a Ricard kild him: Thou hadst an Edward, till a Richard kild him: Thou hadst a Richard, till a Richard kild him. I had a Richard to, and thou didst kill him: I had a Rutland to, thou hopst to kill him. Thou hadst a Clarence to, and Richard kild him: From forth the kennell of thy wombe hath crept, A hel-hound that doeth hunt vs all to death, That dogge, that had his teeth before his eyes, To worrie lambes, and lap their gentle blouds, That foule defacer of Gods handie worke, Thy wombe let loose, to chase vs to our graues, O vpright, iust, and true disposing God, How doe I thanke thee, that this carnal curre, Praies n the issue of his mothers bodie, And makes her puefellow with others mone.