Shakespeare, William · published 1598 · first performed or written 1597 [c.1596-1597] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T42 English historical figures: a mixed clus typicality 0.77 · 482 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T42: harry, percy, lord, king, god, falstalffe, frances, mowbray, life, mortimer.
Pray God you do. High good sir Mighell, bear this sealed brief With winged haste to the Lord Marshall, This to my cousin Scroop, and all the rest To whom they are directed. If you knew How much they do import you would make haft. My good Lord I guess their tenor. Like enough you do. To morrow good sir Mighell is a day, Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men Must bide the touch. For sir at Shrewsbury As I am truly given to understand, The king with mighty and quick raised power Meets with Lord Harry And I fear sir Mighell What with the sickness of Northumberland, Whose power was in the first proportion, And what with Owen Glendowers absence thence, Who with them was a rated sinew too. And comes not in overrulde by prophecies, I fear the power of Percy is too weak To wage an instant trial with the king. Why my good Lord, you need not fear, There is Douglas, and Lord Mortimer. No, Mortimer is not there. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy. And there is my Lord of Worcester and a head Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. And so there is: but yet the king hath drawn The special head of all the land together, The Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaster, The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt, And many more corivals and dear men Of estimation and command in arms. Doubt not my Lo: they shallbe well opposed. I hope no less; yet needful 'tis to fear, And to prevent the worst, sir Mighell speed: For if Lord Percy thrive not ere the king Dismiss his power, he means to visit us, For he hath heard of our confederacy, And 'tis but wisdom to make strong against him, Therefore make haste, I must go writ again To other friends and so farewell sir Mighel. How bloodily the sun begins to pear Above yon bulky hill, the day looks pale At his distemperature. The Southern wind Doth play the trumpet to his purposes, And by his hollow whistling in the leaves Foretells a tempest and a blustering day. Then with the losers let it sympathize, For nothing can seem foul to those that win. How now my Lord of Worcester, 'tis not well, That you and I should meet upon such terms As now we meet. You have deceived our trust, And made us doff our easy robes of peace, To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel, This is not well my Lord, this is not well. What say you to it? will you again unknit This churlish knot of all abhorred war? And move in that obedient orb again, Where you did give a fair and natural light, And be no more an exhalde meteor, A prodigy of fear, and a portent Of broached mischief to the unborn times.
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)
Pray God you do. Hie good sir Mighell, beare this sealed briefe With winged haste to the Lord Marshall, This to my coosen Scroope, and all the rest To whom they are directed. If you knew How much they do import you would make hafte. My good Lord I gesse their tenor. Like enough you do. To morrow good sir Mighell is a day, Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men Must bide the touch. For sir at Shrewsbury As I am truly giuen to vnderstand, The king with mighty and quicke raised power Meetes with Lord Harry And I feare sir Mighell What with the sicknesse of Northumberland, Whose power was in the first proportion, And what with Owen Glendowers absence thence, Who with them was a rated sinew too. And comes not in ouerrulde by prophecies, I feare the power of Percy is too weake To wage an instant triall with the king. Why my god Lord, you need not feare, There is Douglas, and Lord Mortimer. No, Mortimer is not there. But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy. And there is my Lord of Worcester and a head Of gallant warriours, noble gentlemen. And so there is: but yet the king hath drawn The speciall head of all the land togither, The Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaster, The noble Westmerland, and warlike Blunt, And many mo coriuals and deare men Of estmation and command in armes. Doubt not my Lo: they shalbe wel oppos'd. I hope no lesse; yet needfull tis to feare, And to preuent the worst, sir Mighell speed: For if Lord Percy thriue not ere the king Dismisse his power, he meanes to visit vs, For he hath heard of our confederacy, And tis but wisedome to make strong against him, Therefore make haste, I must go write againe To other friends and so farewell sir Mighel. How bloudily the sunne begins to peare Aboue you buky hill, the day lookes pale At his distemprature. The Southren winde Doth play the trumpet to his purposes, And by his hollow whistling in the leaues Foretels a tempest and a blustring day. Then with the loosers let it simpathize, For nothing can seeme foule to those that winne. How now my Lord of Worcester, tis not wel, That you and I should meet vpon such tearmes As now we meete. You haue deceiu'd our trust, And made vs doffe our easie roabes of peace, To crush our old limbs in vngentle steele, This is not well my Lord, this is not well. What say you to it? will you againe vnknit This churlish knot of all abhorred war? And moue in that obedient orbe againe, Where you did giue a faire and naturall light, And be no more an exhalde meteor, A prodigie of feare, and a portent Of broched mischiefe to the vnborne times.