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 0.79 · 534 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.
Not so, Sir Walter. we'll withdraw a while: Go to the King, and let there be impawned Some surety for a safe return again, And in the Morning early shall my Uncle Bring him our purpose: and so farewell. I would you would accept of Grace and Love.. an't may be, so we shall. Pray Heaven you do. Hie, good Sir Michael, 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 haste. My good Lord, I guess their tenor. Like enough you do. To morrow, good Sir Michael, 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-raysed Power, Meets with Lord Harry: and I fear, Sir Michael, What with the sickness of Northumberland, Whose Power was in the first proportion; And what with Owen Glendowers absence thence, Who with them was rated firmly too, And comes not in, overruled 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 Dowglas, 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 Corrivals, and dear men Of estimation, and command in Arms. Doubt not my Lord, he shall be well opposed I hope no less? Yet needful 'tis to fear, And to prevent the worst, Sir Michael 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 Michael. How bloodily the Sun begins to peer Above you busky 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, Fortels a Tempest, and a blust'ring day. Then with the losers let it sympathise, For nothing can seem foul to those that win. How now my Lord of Worster? '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 exhalled Meteor, A prodigy of Fear, and a Portent Of broached Mischief, to the unborn Times?
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1710–1783 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 40 of 48 in this edition
Length
534 words · 723 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T42 — English historical figures: a mixed clustercontext only — excluded from the genre comparison · typicality 0.786 (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)
Not ſo, Sir Walter. Wee'le with-draw a while: Goe to the King, and let there be impawn'd Some ſuretie for a ſafe returne againe, And in the Morning early ſhall my Vnckle Bring him our purpoſe: and ſo farewell. I would you would accept of Grace and Loue. And't may be, ſo wee ſhall. Pray Heauen you doe. Hie, good Sir Michell, beare this ſealed Briefe With winged haſte to the Lord Marſhall, This to my Couſin Scroope, and all the reſt To whom they are directed. If you knew how much they doe Import. You would make haſte. My good Lord, I gueſſe their tenor. Like enough you doe. To morrow, good Sir Michell, 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 mightie and quick-rayſed Power, Meetes with Lord Harry: and I feare, Sir Michell, What with the ſickneſſe of Northumberland, Whoſe Power was in the firſt proportion; And what with Owen Glendowers abſence thence, Who with them was rated firmely too, And comes not in, ouer-rul'd by Prophecies, I feare the Power of Percy is too weake, To wage an inſtant tryall with the King. Why, my good Lord, you need not feare, There is Dowglas, 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 drawne The ſpeciall head of all the Land together: The Prince of Wales, Lord Iohn of Lancaſter, The Noble Weſtmerland, and warlike Blunt; And many moe Corriuals, and deare men Of eſtimation, and command in Armes. Doubt not my Lord, he ſhall be well oppos'd I hope no leſſe? Yet needfull 'tis to feare, And to preuent the worſt, Sir Michell ſpeed; For if Lord Percy thriue not, ere the King Diſmiſſe his power, he meanes to viſit vs: For he hath heard of our Confederacie, And, 'tis but Wiſedome to make ſtrong againſt him: Therefore make haſt, I muſt go write againe To other Friends: and ſo farewell, Sir Michell. How bloodily the Sunne begins to peere Aboue you busky hill: the day lookes pale At his diſtemperature. The Southerne winde Doth play the Trumpet to his purpoſes, And by his hollow whiſtling in the Leaues, Fortels a Tempeſt, and a bluſt'ring day. Then with the loſers let it ſympathize, For nothing can ſeeme foule to thoſe that win. How now my Lord of Worſter? 'Tis not well That you and I ſhould meet vpon ſuch tearmes, As now we meet. You haue deceiu'd our truſt, And made vs doffe our eaſie Robes of Peace, To cruſh our old limbes 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 Warre? And moue in that obedient Orbe againe, Where you did giue a faire and naturall light, And be no more an exhall'd Meteor, A prodigie of Feare, and a Portent Of broached Miſcheefe, to the vnborne Times?