Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1592] (Annals) tragedy; history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour typicality 0.74 · 479 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
No, no, my Dream was lengthened after life. O then, began the Tempest to my Soul. I passed (me thought) the Melancholy Flood, With that sour Ferryman which Poets writ of, Unto the Kingdom of perpetual Night. The first that there did greet my Stranger-soule, Was my great Father-in-Law, renowned Warwick, Who spoke aloud: What scourge for Perjury, Can this dark Monarchy afford false Clarence? And so he vanished. Then came wandering by, A Shadow like an Angel, with bright hair Dabbeled in blood, and he shrieked out aloud Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury: Seize on him Furies, take him unto Torment. With that (me thought) a Legion of foul Fiends Environed me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very Noise, I (trembling) waked, and for a season after, Can not believe, but that I was in Hell, Such terrible Impression made my Dream. No marvel Lord, though it affrighted you, I am afraid (me thinks) to hear you tell it. Ah Keeper, Keeper, I have done these things (That now give evidence against my Soul) For Edward's sake, and see how he requits me. O God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath in me alone: O spare my guiltless Wife, and my poor children. Keeper, I prithee sit by me awhile, My Soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. I will my Lord, God give your Grace good rest. Sorrow breaks Seasons, and reposing hours, Makes the Night Morning, and the Noon-tide night: Princes have but their Titles for their Glories, An outward Honour, for an inward Toil, And for unfelt Imaginations They often feel a world of restless Cares: So that between their Titles, and low Name, There's nothing differs, but the outward fame. Ho, who's here? What wouldst thou Fellow? And how camm'st thou hither. I would speak with Clarence, and I came hither on my Legs. What so brief? 'Tis better (Sir) then to be tedious: Let him see our Commission, and talk no more. I am in this, commanded to deliver The Noble Duke of Clarence to your hands. I will not reason what is meant hereby, Because I will be guiltless from the meaning. There lies the Duke asleep, and there the Keys. I'll to the King, and signify to him, That thus I have resigned to you my charge. You may sir, 'tis a point of wisdom: Far you well. What, shall we stab him as he sleeps. No: he'll say 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes Why he shall never wake, until the great judgement day. Why then he'll say, we stabbed him sleeping. The urging of that word judgement, hath bred a kind of remorse in me. What? art thou afraid?
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)
No, no, my Dreame was lengthen'd after life. O then, began the Tempeſt to my Soule▪ I paſt (me thought) the Melancholly Flood, With that ſowre Ferry-man which Poets write of, Vnto the Kingdome of perpetuall Night. The firſt that there did greet my Stranger-ſoule, Was my great Father-in-Law, renowned Warwicke, Who ſpake alowd: What ſcourge for Periurie, Can this darke Monarchy affoord falſe Clarence? And ſo he vaniſh'd. Then came wand'ring by, A Shadow like an Angell, with bright hayre Dabbel'd in blood, and he ſhriek'd out alowd Clarence is come, falſe, fleeting, periur'd Clarence, That ſtabb'd me in the field by Tewkesbury: Seize on him Furies, take him vnto Torment. With that (me thought) a Legion of foule Fiends Inuiron'd me, and howled in mine eares Such hiddeous cries, that with the very Noiſe, I (trembling) wak'd, and for a ſeaſon after, Could not beleeue, but that I was in Hell, Such terrible Impreſsion made my Dreame. No maruell Lord, though it affrighted you, I am affraid (me thinkes) to heare you tell it. Ah Keeper, Keeper, I haue done theſe things (That now giue euidence againſt my Soule) For Edwards ſake, and ſee how he requits mee. O God! if my deepe prayres cannot appeaſe thee, But thou wilt be aueng'd on my miſdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath in me alone: O ſpare my guiltleſſe Wife, and my poore children. Keeper, I prythee ſit by me a-while, My Soule is heauy, and I faine would ſleepe. I will my Lord, God giue your Grace good reſt. Sorrow breakes Seaſons, and repoſing houres, Makes the Night Morning, and the Noon-tide night: Princes haue but their Titles for their Glories, An outward Honor, for an inward Toyle, And for vnfelt Imaginations They often feele a world of reſtleſſe Cares: So that betweene their Titles, and low Name, There's nothing differs, but the outward fame. Ho, who's heere? What would'ſt thou Fellow? And how camm'ſt thou hither. I would ſpeak with Clarence, and I came hither on my Legges. What ſo breefe? 'Tis better (Sir) then to be tedious: Let him ſee our Commiſſion, and talke no more. I am in this, commanded to deliuer The Noble Duke of Clarence to your hands. I will not reaſon what is meant heereby, Becauſe I will be guiltleſſe from the meaning. There lies the Duke aſleepe, and there the Keyes. Ile to the King, and ſignifie to him, That thus I haue reſign'd to you my charge. You may ſir, 'tis a point of wiſedome: Far you well. What, ſhall we ſtab him as he ſleepes. No: hee'l ſay 'twas done cowardly, when he wakes Why he ſhall neuer wake, vntill the great Iudgement day. Why then hee'l ſay, we ſtab'd him ſleeping. The vrging of that word Iudgement, hath bred a kinde of remorſe in me. What? art thou affraid?