Shakespeare, William · published 1597 · first performed or written 1596 [1594-1596] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.76 · 511 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Go, get you gone. What lamb, what Lady bird? fast I warrant. What Iuliet? well▪ let the County take you in your bed▪ ye sleep for a week now, but the next night, the County Paris hath set up his rest that you shall rest but little. What lamb I say, fast still: what Lady, Love, what bride, what Iuliet? God's me how sound she sleeps? Nay then I see I must wake you indeed. What's here, laid on your bed, dressed in your clothes and down, ah me, alack the day, some Aqua vitae ho. How now what's the matter? Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead. Accursed, unhappy, miserable time. Come, come, make haste, where's my daughter? Ah she's dead, she's dead. Stay, let me see, all pale and wan. Accursed time, unfortunate old man. What is the bride ready to go to Church? Ready to go, but never to return. O Son the night before thy wedding day, Hath Death lain with thy bride, flower as she is, Deflowered by him, see, where she lies, Death is my Soon in Law, to him I give all that I have, Have I thought long to see this morning's face, And doth it now present such prodigies? Accursed, unhappy, miserable man, Forlorn, forsaken, destitute I am: Borne to the world to be a slave in it. Distressed, remediless, and unfortunate. O heavens, O nature, wherefore did you make me, To live so vile, so wretched as I shall. O here she lies that was our hope, our joy, And being dead, dead sorrow nips us all. And all our joy, and all our hope is dead, Dead, lost, undone, absented, wholly fled. Cruel, unjust, impartial destinies, Why to this day have you preserved my life? To see my hope, my stay, my joy, my life, Deprived of sense, of life, of all by death, Cruel, unjust, impartial destinies. O sad faced sorrow map of misery, Why this sad time have I desired to see. This day, this unjust, this impartial day Wherein I hoped to see my comfort full, To be deprived by sudden destiny. O woe, alack, distressed, why should I live? To see this day, this miserable day. Alack the time that ever I was borne. To be partaker of this destiny. Alack the day, alack and welladay. O peace for shame, if not for charity. Your daughter lives in peace and happiness, And it is vain to wish it otherwise. Come stick your Rosemary in this dead coarse, And as the custom of our Country is, In all her best and sumptuous ornaments, Convey her where her Ancestors lie tombed, Let it be so, come woeful sorrow mates, Let vs together taste this bitter ae. Put up, put up, this is a woeful case. I by my troth Mistress is it, it had need be mended. Alack alack what shall I do, come Fiddlers play me some merry dump. A sir, this is no time to play. You will not then? No marry will we.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1588–1643 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 30 of 35 in this edition
Length
511 words · 712 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.759 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Goe, get you gone. What lambe, what Lady birde? fast I warrant. What Iuliet? well▪ let the County take you in your bed▪ yee sleepe for a weeke now, but the next night, the Countie Paris hath set vp his rest that you shal rest but little. What lambe I say, fast still: what Lady, Loue, whatbride, what Iuliet? Gods me how sound she sleeps? Nay then I see I must wake you indeed. Whats heere, laide on your bed, dret in your cloathes and down, ah me, alack the day, some Aqua vitae hoe. How now whats the matter? Alack the day, shees dead, shees dead, shees dead. Accurst, vnhappy, miserable time. Come, come, make hast, wheres my daughter? Ah shees dead, shees dead. Stay, let me see, all pale and an. Accursed time, vnfortunate olde man. What is the bride ready to goe to Church? Ready to goe, but neuer to returne. O Sonne the night before thy wedding day, Hath Death laine with thy bride, flower as she is, Deflowerd by him, see, where she lyes, Death is my Soone in Law, to him I giue all that I haue, Haue I thought long to see this mornings face, And doth it now present such prodegies? Accurst, vnhappy, miserable man, Forlorne, forsaken, destitute I am: Borne to the world to be a slaue in it. Distrest, remediles, and vnfortunate. O heauens, O nature, wherefore did you make me, To liue so vile, so wretched as I shall. O heere she lies that was our hope, our ioy, And being dead, dead sorrow nips vs all. And all our ioy, and all our hope is dead, Dead, lost, vndone, absented, wholy sled. Cruel, vniust, impartiall destinies, Why to this day haue you preseru'd my life? To see my hope, my stay, my ioy, my life, Depriude of sence, of life, of all by death, Cruell, vniust, impartiall destinies. O sad fac'd sorrow map of misery, Why this sad time haue I desird to see. This day, this vniust, this impartiall day Wherein I hop'd to see my comfort full, To be depriude by suddaine destinie. O woe, alacke, distrest, why should I liue? To see this day, this miserable day. Alacke the time that euer I was borne. To be partaker of this destinie. Alacke the day, alacke and welladay. O peace for shame, if not for charity. Your daughter ues in peace and happines, And it is vaine to wish it otherwise. Come sticke your Rosemary in this dead corse, And as the custome of our Country is, In all her best and sumptuous ornaments, Conuay her where her Ancestors lie tomb'd, Let it be so, come wofll forrow mates, Let vs together taste this bitter ae. Put vp, put vp, this is a wofull case. I by my troth Mistresse is it, it had need be mended. Alack alack what shal I doe, come Fidlers play me some mery dumpe. A sir, this is no time to play. You will not then? No marry will wee.