Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1597 [c.1596-1597] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T42 English historical figures: a mixed clus typicality 0.75 · 463 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.
here is a dear and true industrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his Horse, Strained with the variation of each soil, Betwixt that Holmedon, and this Seat of ours: And he hath brought us smooth and welcomes news. The Earl of Dowglas is discomfited, Ten thousand bold Scots, two and twenty Knights Balked in their own blood did Sir Walter see On Holmedons Plains. Of Prisoners, Hotspur took Mordake Earl of Fife, and eldest son To beaten Dowglas, and the Earl of Athol, Of Murry, Angus, and Menteith. And is not this an honourable spoil? A gallant prize? Ha' Cousin, is it not? Infaith it is. A Conquest for a Prince to boast of. Yea, there thou makest me sad, & makest me sin, In envy, that my Lord Northumberland Should be the Father of so blessed a Son: A Son, who is the Theme of Honour's tongue; Amongst a Grove, the very straightest Plant, Who is sweet Fortune's Minion, and her Pride: Whilst I by looking on the praise of him, See Riot and Dishonour stain the brow Of my young Harry. O that it could be proved, That some Night-tripping-Faiery, had exchanged In Cradle-clotheses, our Children where they lay, And called mine Percy, his Plantagenet: Then would I have his Harry, and he mine: But let him from my thoughts. What think you Cousin Of this young Percies pride? The Prisoners Which he in this adventure hath surprised, To his own use he keeps, and sends me word I shall have none but Mordake Earl of Fife. This is his Uncle's teaching. This is Worcester Malevolent to you in all Aspects: Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up The crest of Youth against your Dignity. But I have sent for him to answer this: And for this cause awhile we must neglect Our holy purpose to Ierusalem. Cousin, on Wednesday next, our Council we will hold At Windsor, and so inform the Lords: But come yourself with speed to us again, For more is to be said, and to be done, Then out of anger can be uttered. I will my Liege. Now Hal, what time of day is it Lad? Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of old Sack, and unbuttoning thee after Supper, and sleeping upon Benches in the afternoon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly, which thou wouldst truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? unless hours were cups of Sack, and minutes Capons, and clocks the tongues of Bawds, and dials the signs of Leaping-houses, and the blessed Sun himself a fair hot Wench in Flame-coloured Taffeta; I see no reason, why thou shouldest be so superfluous, to demand the time of the day.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 61–108 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 2 of 48 in this edition
Length
463 words · 640 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T42 — English historical figures: a mixed clustercontext only — excluded from the genre comparison · typicality 0.754 (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)
Heere is a deere and true induſtrious friend, Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his Horſe, Strain'd with the variation of each ſoyle, Betwixt that Holmedon, and this Seat of ours: And he hath brought vs ſmooth and welcomes newes. The Earle of Dowglas is diſcomfited, Ten thouſand bold Scots, two and twenty Knights Balk'd in their owne blood did Sir Walter ſee On Holmedons Plaines. Of Priſoners, Hotſpurre tooke Mordake Earle of Fife, and eldeſt ſonne To beaten Dowglas, and the Earle of Atholl, Of Murry, Angus, and Menteith. And is not this an honourable ſpoyle? A gallant prize? Ha Coſin, is it not? Infaith it is. A Conqueſt for a Prince to boaſt of. Yea, there thou mak'ſt me ſad, & mak'ſt me ſin, In enuy, that my Lord Northumberland Should be the Father of ſo bleſt a Sonne: A Sonne, who is the Theame of Honors tongue; Among'ſt a Groue, the very ſtraighteſt Plant, Who is ſweet Fortunes Minion, and her Pride: Whil'ſt I by looking on the praiſe of him, See Ryot and Diſhonor ſtaine the brow Of my yong Harry. O that it could be prou'd, That ſome Night-tripping-Faiery, had exchang'd In Cradle-clothes, our Children where they lay, And call'd mine Percy, his Plantagenet: Then would I haue his Harry, and he mine: But let him from my thoughts. What thinke you Coze Of this young Percies pride? The Priſoners Which he in this aduenture hath ſurpriz'd, To his owne vſe he keepes, and ſends me word I ſhall haue none but Mordake Earle of Fife. This is his Vnckles teaching. This is Worceſter Maleuolent to you in all Aſpects: Which makes him prune himſelfe, and briſtle vp The creſt of Youth againſt your Dignity. But I haue ſent for him to anſwer this: And for this cauſe a-while we muſt neglect Our holy purpoſe to Ieruſalem. Coſin, on Wedneſday next, our Councell we will hold At Windſor, and ſo informe the Lords: But come your ſelfe with ſpeed to vs againe, For more is to be ſaid, and to be done, Then out of anger can be vttered. I will my Liege. Now Hal, what time of day is it Lad? Thou art ſo fat-witted with drinking of olde Sacke, and vnbuttoning thee after Supper, and ſleeping vpon Benches in the afternoone, that thou haſt forgotten to demand that truely, which thou wouldeſt truly know. What a diuell haſt thou to do with the time of the day? vnleſſe houres were cups of Sacke, and minutes Capons, and clockes the tongues of Bawdes, and dialls the ſignes of Leaping-houſes, and the bleſſed Sunne himſelfe a faire hot Wench in Flame-coloured Taffata; I ſee no reaſon, why thou ſhouldeſt bee ſo ſuperfluous, to demaund the time of the day.