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 · 491 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.
Depose me: if thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a Rabbet-sucker, or a Poulter's Hare. Well, here I am set. And here I stand: judge my Masters. Now Harry, whence come you? My Noble Lord, from Eastcheap. The complaints I hear of thee, are grievous. I'faith, my Lord, they are false: Nay, I'll tickle ye for a young Prince. Swearest thou, ungracious Boy? henceforth ne'er look on me: thou art violently carried away from Grace: there is a Devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old Man; a Tun of Man is thy Companion: Why dost thou converse with that Trunk of Humours, that Boulting-Hutch of Beastliness, that swollen Parcel of Dropsies, that huge Bombard of Sack, that stuffed Cloak-bag of Guts, that roasted Manning Tree Ox with the Pudding in his Belly, that reverend Vice, that grey Iniquity, that Father Ruffian, that Vanity in years? wherein is he good, but to taste Sack, and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a Capon, and eat it? wherein Cunning, but in Craft? wherein Crafty, but in Villainy? wherein Villainous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing? I would your Grace would take me with you: whom means your Grace? That villainous abominable mis-leader of Youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. My Lord, the man I know. I know thou dost. But to say, I know more harm in him then in myself, were to say more than I know. That he is old (the more the pity) his white hairs do witness it: but that he is (saving your reverence) a Whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If Sack and Sugar be a fault, Heaven help the Wicked: if to be old and merry, be a sin, than many an old Host that I know, is damned: if to be fat, be to be hated, than Pharaohs lean Kine are to be loved. No, my good Lord, banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poines: but for sweet Iacke Falstaff, kind Iacke Falstaff, true Iacke Falstaff, valiant Iacke Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is old Iack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish not him thy Harry's company; banish plump Iacke, and banish all the World. I do, I will. O, my Lord, my Lord, the Sheriff, with a most most monstrous Watch, is at the door. Out you Rogue, play out the Play: I have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff. O, my Lord, my Lord. Heigh, heigh, the Devil rides upon a Fiddlestick: what's the matter? The Sheriff and all the Watch are at the door: they are come to search the House, shall I let them in? Dost thou hear Hal, never call a true piece of Gold a Counterfeit: thou art essentially made, without seeming so. And thou a natural Coward, without instinct.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 820–840 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 23 of 48 in this edition
Length
491 words · 720 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)
Depoſe me: if thou do'ſt it halfe ſo grauely, ſo maieſtically, both in word and matter, hang me vp by the heeles for a Rabbet-ſucker, or a Poulters Hare. Well, heere I am ſet. And heere I ſtand: iudge my Maſters. Now Harry, whence come you? My Noble Lord, from Eaſt-cheape. The complaints I heare of thee, are grieuous. Yfaith, my Lord, they are falſe: Nay, Ile tickle ye for a young Prince. Sweareſt thou, vngracious Boy? henceforth ne're looke on me: thou art violently carryed away from Grace: there is a Deuill haunts thee, in the likeneſſe of a fat old Man; a Tunne of Man is thy Companion: Why do'ſt thou conuerſe with that Trunke of Humors, that Boulting-Hutch of Beaſtlineſſe, that ſwolne Parcell of Dropſies, that huge Bombard of Sacke, that ſtuft Cloake-bagge of Guts, that roſted Manning Tree Oxe with the Pudding in his Belly, that reuerend Vice, that grey Iniquitie, that Father Ruffian, that Vanitie in yeeres? wherein is he good, but to taſte Sacke, and drinke it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carue a Capon, and eat it? wherein Cunning, but in Craft? wherein Craftie, but in Villanie? wherein Villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing? I would your Grace would take me with you: whom meanes your Grace? That villanous abhominable mis-leader of Youth, Falstaffe, that old white-bearded Sathan. My Lord, the man I know. I know thou do'ſt. But to ſay, I know more harme in him then in my ſelfe, were to ſay more then I know. That hee is olde (the more the pittie) his white hayres doe witneſſe it: but that hee is (ſauing your reuerence) a Whore-maſter, that I vtterly deny. If Sacke and Sugar bee a fault, Heauen helpe the Wicked: if to be olde and merry, be a ſinne, then many an olde Hoſte that I know, is damn'd: if to be fat, be to be hated, then Pharaohs leane Kine are to be loued. No, my good Lord, baniſh Peto, baniſh Bardolph, baniſh Poines: but for ſweete Iacke Falstaffe, kinde Iacke Falstaffe, true Iacke Falstaffe, valiant Iacke Falſtaffe, and therefore more valiant, being as hee is olde Iack Falstaffe, baniſh not him thy Harryes companie, baniſh not him thy Harryes companie; baniſh plumpe Iacke, and baniſh all the World. I doe, I will. O, my Lord, my Lord, the Sherife, with a moſt moſt monſtrous Watch, is at the doore. Out you Rogue, play out the Play: I haue much to ſay in the behalfe of that Falſtaffe. O, my Lord, my Lord. Heigh, heigh, the Deuill rides vpon a Fiddle-ſticke: what's the matter? The Sherife and all the Watch are at the doore: they are come to ſearch the Houſe, ſhall I let them in? Do'ſt thou heare Hal, neuer call a true peece of Gold a Counterfeit: thou art eſſentially made, without ſeeming ſo. And thou a naturall Coward, without inſtinct.