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 0.81 · 476 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.
O, Harry's wife's triumph not in my woes, God witness with me, I have wept for thine. Bear with me, I am hungry for revenge, And now I cloie me with beholding it, Thy Edward, he is dead, that stabbed my Edward, Thy other Edward dead, to quit my Edward, Young York, he is but boot because both they Match not the high perfection of my loss, Thy Clarence he is dead, that killed my Edward, And the beholders of this tragic play, The adulterate Hastings, Rivers, Vaughan, Grace, Untimely smothered in their dusky graves, Richard yet lives, hell's black intelligencer, Only reserved their factor to buy souls, And send them thither, but at hand at hands, ensues his piteous, and unpitied end, Earth gapes, hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray, To have him suddenly conveyed away. Cancel his bond of life, dear God I pray, That I may live to say, the dog is dead. O thou didst prophecy the time would come, That I should wish for thee to help me curse, That botteld spider, that foul bunch-backed toad. I called thee then, vain flourish of my fortune, I called thee then, poor shadow, painted Queen, The presentation of, but what I was, The flattering Index of a direful pageant, One heaved a high, to be hurled down below, A mother only, mocked with two sweet babes, A dream of which thou wert a breath, a bubble, A sign of dignity, a garish flag, To be the aim of every dangerous shot, A Queen in jest only to fill the scene, Where is thy husband now, where be thy brothers? Where are thy children, wherein dost thou joy? Who sues to thee, and cries God save the Queen? Where be the bending peers that flattered thee? Where be the thronging troup that followed thee? decline all this, and see what now thou art, For happy wife, a most distressed widow, For joyful Mother, one that wails the name, For Queen, a very caitiff crowned with care, For one being sued to, one that humbly sues, For one commanding all, obeyed of none, For one that scorned at me, now scorned of me, Thus hath the course of justice whe'eld about, And left thee but, a very pray to time, Having no more, but thought of what thou wert, To torture thee the more, being what thou art, Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not, Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow, Now thy proud neck, bears halfe my burdened yoke, From which, even here, I slip my weary neck, And leave the burden of it all on thee: Farewell York's wife, and Queen of sad mischance, These English woes, will make me smile in France. O thou well skilled in curses, stay a while, And teach me how to curse mine enemies.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 2538–2595 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 41 of 54 in this edition
Length
476 words · 644 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T42 — English historical figures: a mixed clustercontext only — excluded from the genre comparison · typicality 0.809 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T43 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O, Harries wifes triumph not in my woes, God witnes with me, I haue wept for thine. Beare with me, I am hungrie for reuenge, And now I cloie me with beholding it, Thy Edward, he is dead, that stabd my Edward, Thy other Edward dead, to quitte my Edward, Yong Yorke, he is but boote because both they Match not the high perfection of my losse, Thy Clarence he is dead, that kild my Edward, And the beholders of this tragicke plaie, The adulterate Hastings, Riuers, Vaughan, Gray, Vntimelie smothred in their duskie graues, Richard yet liues, hels blacke intelligencer, Onely reserued their factor to buie soules, And send them thether, but at hand at handes, ensues his piteous, and vnpittied end, Earth gapes, hell burnes, fiendes roare, saintes praie, To haue him suddenly conueied away. Cancell his bond of life, deare God I pray, That I may liue to say, the dog is dead. O thou didst prophecie the time would come, That I should wish for thee to helpe me cursse, That botteld spider, that foule bunch-backt toade. I cald thee then, vaine floorish of my fortune, I cald thee then, poore shadow, painted Queene, The presentation of, but what I was, The flattering Index of a direfull pageant, One heaued a high, to be hurld downe belowe, A mother onelie, mockt with two sweete babes, A dreame of which thou wert a breath, a bubble, A signe of dignitie, a garish flagge, To be the aime of euerie dangerous shot, A Queene in ieast onelie to fill the sceane, Where is thy husband now, where be thy brothers? Where are thy children, wherein doest thou ioye? Who ues to thee, and cries God saue the Queene? Where be the bending peeres that flattered thee? Where be the thronging troope that followed thee? decline all this, and see what now thou art, For happie wife, a most distressed widow, For ioyfull Mother, one that wailes the name, For Queene, a verie caitiue crownd with care, For one being sued to, one that humblie sues, For one commaunding all, obeyed of none, For one that scornd at me, now scornd of me, Thus hath the course of iustice whe'eld about, And left thee but, a verie praie to time, Hauing no more, but thought of what thou wer, To torture thee the more, being what thou art, Thou didst vsurpe my place, and doest thou not, Vsurpe the iust proportion of my sorrow, Now thy proud necke, beares halfe my burthened yoke, From which, euen here, I slippe my wearie necke, And leaue the burthen of it all on thee: Farewell Yorkes wife, and Queene of sad mischance, These English woes, will make me smile in France. O thou wel skild in curses, staie a while, And teach me how to curse mine enemies.