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 0.87 · 495 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 my good Lord, why are you thus alone? For what offence have I this fortnight been A banished woman from my Harry's bed? Tell me (sweet Lord) what is't that takes from thee Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth? And start so often when thou sittest alone? Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks? And given my Treasures and my rights of thee, To thicke-eyed musing, and cursed melancholy? In my faint-slumbers, I by thee have watched, And heard thee murmore tales of Iron Wars: Speak terms of manage to thy bounding Steed, Cry courage to the field. And thou hast talked Of Sallies, and Retires; Trenches, Tents, Of Palisades, Frontiers, Parapets, Of Basilisks, of Canon, Culverin, Of Prisoner's ransom, and of Soldiers slain, And all the current of a heady fight. Thy spirit within thee hath been so at War, And thus hath so bestirred thee in thy sleep, That beds of sweat hath stood upon thy Brow, Like bubbles in a late-disturbed Stream; And in thy face strange motions have appeared, Such as we see when men restrain their breath On some great sudden haste. O what portents are these? Some heavy business hath my Lord in hand, And I must know it: else he loves me not. What ho; Is Gilliams with the Packet gone? He is my Lord, an hour agone. Hath Butler brought those horses from the Sheriff? One horse, my Lord, he brought even now. What Horse? A Roan, a crop ear, is it not. It is my Lord. That Roan shall be my Throne. Well, I will backe him strait. Esperance, bid Butler lead him forth into the Park. But hear you, my Lord. What sayst thou my Lady? What is it carries you away? Why, my horse (my Love) my horse. Out you madheaded Ape, a Weasel hath not such a deal of Spleen, as you are tossed with. In sooth I'll know your business Harry, that I will. I fear my Brother Mortimer doth stir about his Title, and hath sent for you to line his enterprise. But if you go— So far a foot, I shall be weary, Love.. Come, come, you Parakeet, answer me directly unto this question, that I shall ask. Indeed I'll break thy little finger Harry, if thou wilt not tell me true. Away, away you trifler: Love, I love thee not, I care not for thee Kate: this is no world To play with Mammets, and to tilt with lips. We must have bloody Noses, and cracked Crowns, And pass them currant too. God's me, my horse. What sayst thou Kate? what wouldst thou have with me? Do ye not love me? Do ye not indeed? Well, do not then. For since you love me not, I will not love myself. Do you not love me? Nay, tell me if thou speakest in jest, or no.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 589–640 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 15 of 48 in this edition
Length
495 words · 675 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T42 — English historical figures: a mixed clustercontext only — excluded from the genre comparison · typicality 0.866 (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)
O my good Lord, why are you thus alone? For what offence haue I this fortnight bin A baniſh'd woman from my Harries bed? Tell me (ſweet Lord) what is't that takes from thee Thy ſtomacke, pleaſure, and thy golden ſleepe? Why doſt thou bend thine eyes vpon the earth? And ſtart ſo often when thou ſitt'ſt alone? Why haſt thou loſt the freſh blood in thy cheekes? And giuen my Treaſures and my rights of thee, To thicke-ey'd muſing, and curſt melancholly? In my faint-ſlumbers, I by thee haue watcht, And heard thee murmore tales of Iron Warres: Speake tearmes of manage to thy bounding Steed, Cry courage to the field. And thou haſt talk'd Of Sallies, and Retires; Trenches, Tents, Of Palizadoes, Frontiers, Parapets, Of Baſiliskes, of Canon, Culuerin, Of Priſoners ranſome, and of Souldiers ſlaine, And all the current of a headdy fight. Thy ſpirit within thee hath beene ſo at Warre, And thus hath ſo beſtirr'd thee in thy ſleepe, That beds of ſweate hath ſtood vpon thy Brow, Like bubbles in a late-diſturbed Streame; And in thy face ſtrange motions haue appear'd, Such as we ſee when men reſtraine their breath On ſome great ſodaine haſt. O what portents are theſe? Some heauie buſineſſe hath my Lord in hand, And I muſt know it: elſe he loues me not. What ho; Is Gilliams with the Packet gone? He is my Lord, an houre agone. Hath Butler brought thoſe horſes frō the Sheriffe? One horſe, my Lord, he brought euen now. What Horſe? A Roane, a crop eare, is it not. It is my Lord. That Roane ſhall be my Throne. Well, I will backe him ſtraight. Eſperance, bid Butler lead him forth into the Parke. But heare you, my Lord. What ſay'ſt thou my Lady? What is it carries you away? Why, my horſe (my Loue) my horſe. Out you mad-headed Ape, a Weazell hath not ſuch a deale of Spleene, as you are toſt with. In ſooth Ile know your buſineſſe Harry, that I will. I feare my Brother Mortimer doth ſtirre about his Title, and hath ſent for you to line his enterprize. But if you go— So farre a foot, I ſhall be weary, Loue. Come, come, you Paraquito, anſwer me directly vnto this queſtion, that I ſhall aske. Indeede Ile breake thy little finger Harry, if thou wilt not tel me true. Away, away you trifler: Loue, I loue thee not, I care not for thee Kate: this is no world To play with Mammets, and to tilt with lips. We muſt haue bloodie Noſes, and crack'd Crownes, And paſſe them currant too. Gods me, my horſe. What ſay'ſt thou Kate? what wold'ſt thou haue with me? Do ye not loue me? Do ye not indeed? Well, do not then. For ſince you loue me not, I will not loue my ſelfe. Do you not loue me? Nay, tell me if thou ſpeak'ſt in ieſt, or no.