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 0.90 · 501 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.
Thy State is taken for a Ioyn'dstoole, thy Golden Sceptre for a Leaden Dagger, and thy precious rich Crown, for a pitiful bald Crown. Well, and the fire of Grace be not quite out of thee now shalt thou be moved. Give me a Cup of Sack to make mine eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept, for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in King Cambyses vain. Well, here is my Leg. And here is my speech: stand aside Nobility. This is excellent sport, i'faith. Weep not, sweet Queen, for trickling tears are vain. O the Father, how he holds his countenance? For God's sake Lords, convey my trustful Queen, For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes. O rare, he doth it as like one of these harlotry Players, as ever I see. Peace good Pint-pot, peace good Tickle-braine. Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time; but also, how thou art accompanied: For though the Camomile, the more it is trodden, the faster it grows; yet Youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. Thou art my Son: I have partly thy Mother's Word, partly my Opinion; but chiefly, a villainous trick of thine Eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether Lip, that doth warrant me. If then thou be Son to me, here lieth the point: why, being Son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed Son of Heaven prove a Micher, and eat Black-berryes? a question not to be asked. Shall the Son of England prove a Thief, and take Purses? a question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our Land, by the Name of Pitch: this Pitch (as ancient Writers do report) doth defile; so doth the company thou keepest: for Harry, now I do not speak to thee in Drink, but in Tears; not in Pleasure, but in Passion; not in Words only, but in Woes also: and yet there is a virtuous man, whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his Name. What manner of man, and it like your Majesty? A goodly portly man i'faith, and a corpulent, of a cheerful Look, a pleasing Eye, and a most noble Carriage, and as I think, his age some fifty, or (byrlady) inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, his Name is Falstaff: if that man should be lewdly given, he deceives me; for Harry, I see Virtue in his Looks. If then the Tree may be known by the Fruit, as the Fruit by the Tree, then peremptorily I speak it, there is Virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty Varlet, tell me, where hast thou been this month? Dost thou speak like a King? do thou stand for me, and I'll play my Father.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 806–819 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 22 of 48 in this edition
Length
501 words · 688 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T42 — English historical figures: a mixed clustercontext only — excluded from the genre comparison · typicality 0.900 (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)
Thy State is taken for a Ioyn'd-Stoole, thy Golden Scepter for a Leaden Dagger, and thy precious rich Crowne, for a pittifull bald Crowne. Well, and the fire of Grace be not quite out of thee now ſhalt thou be moued. Giue me a Cup of Sacke to make mine eyes looke redde, that it may be thought I haue wept, for I muſt ſpeake in paſſion, and I will doe it in King Cambyſes vaine. Well, heere is my Legge. And heere is my ſpeech: ſtand aſide Nobilitie. This is excellent ſport, yfaith. Weepe not, ſweet Queene, for trickling teares are vaine. O the Father, how hee holdes his countenance? For Gods ſake Lords, conuey my truſtfull Queen, For teares doe ſtop the floud-gates of her eyes. O rare, he doth it as like one of theſe harlotry Players, as euer I ſee. Peace good Pint-pot, peace good Tickle-braine. Harry, I doe not onely maruell where thou ſpendeſt thy time; but alſo, how thou art accompanied: For though the Camomile, the more it is troden, the faſter it growes; yet Youth, the more it is waſted, the ſooner it weares. Thou art my Sonne: I haue partly thy Mothers Word, partly my Opinion; but chiefely, a villanous tricke of thine Eye, and a fooliſh hanging of thy nether Lippe, that doth warrant me. If then thou be Sonne to mee, heere lyeth the point: why, being Sonne to me, art thou ſo poynted at? Shall the bleſſed Sonne of Heauen proue a Micher, and eate Black-berryes? a queſtion not to bee askt. Shall the Sonne of England proue a Theefe, and take Purſes? a queſtion to be askt. There is a thing, Harry, which thou haſt often heard of, and it is knowne to many in our Land, by the Name of Pitch: this Pitch (as ancient Writers doe report) doth defile; ſo doth the companie thou keepeſt: for Harry, now I doe not ſpeake to thee in Drinke, but in Teares; not in Pleaſure, but in Paſſion; not in Words onely, but in Woes alſo: and yet there is a vertuous man, whom I haue often noted in thy companie, but I know not his Name. What manner of man, and it like your Maieſtie? A goodly portly man yfaith, and a corpulent, of a chearefull Looke, a pleaſing Eye, and a moſt noble Carriage, and as I thinke, his age ſome fiftie, or (byrlady) inclining to threeſcore; and now I remember mee, his Name is Falſtaffe: if that man ſhould be lewdly giuen, hee deceiues mee; for Harry, I ſee Vertue in his Lookes. If then the Tree may be knowne by the Fruit, as the Fruit by the Tree, then peremptorily I ſpeake it, there is Vertue in that Falſtaffe: him keepe with, the reſt baniſh. And tell mee now, thou naughtie Varlet, tell mee, where haſt thou beene this moneth? Do'ſt thou ſpeake like a King? doe thou ſtand for mee, and Ile play my Father.