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 0.81 · 490 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.
Though I could scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot here: here's no scoring, but upon the pate. Soft who are you? Sir Walter Blunt, there's Honour for you: here's no vanity, I am as hot as molten Lead, and as heavy too; heaven keep Led out of me, I need no more weight than mine own Bowels. I have led my rag of Muffins where they are peppered: there's not three of my 150. left alive, and they for the Town's end, to beg during life. But who comes here? What, standest thou idle here? Lend me thy sword, Many a Nobleman likes stark and stiff Under the hooves of vaunting enemies, Whose deaths are unrevenged. Prithee lend me thy sword O Hal, I prithee give me leave to breath awhile: Turk Gregory never did such deeds in Arms, as I have done this day. I have paid Percy, I have made him sure. He is indeed, and living to kill thee: I prithee lend me thy sword. Nay Hal, if Percy be alive, thou getst not my Sword; but take my Pistol if thou wilt. Give it me: What, is it in the Case? I Hal, 'tis hot: There's that will Sack a City. What, is it a time to jest and dally now. If Percy be alive, I'll pierce him: if he do come in my way, so: if he do not, if I come in his (willingly) let him make a Carbonado of me: I like not such grinning honour as Sir Walter hath: Give me life, which if I can save, so: if not, honour comes unlooked for, and there's an end. I prithee Harry withdraw thyself, thou bleedest too much: Lord Iohn of Lancaster, go you with him. Not I, my Lord, unless I did bleed too. I beseech your Majesty make up, Lest you retirement do amaze your friends. I will do so: My Lord of Westmoreland lead him to his Tent. Come my Lord, I'll lead you to your Tent. Led me my Lord? I do not need your help; And heaven forbidden a shallow scratch should drive The Prince of Wales from such a field as this, Where stained Nobility lies trodden on, And Rebels Arms triumph in massacres. We breathe too long: Come cousin Westmoreland, Our duty this way lies, for heaven's sake come. By heaven thou hast deceived me Lancaster, I did not think thee Lord of such a spirit: Before, I loved thee as a Brother, Iohn; But now, I do respect thee as my Soul. I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point, With lustier maintenance than I did look for Of such an ungrowne Warrior. O this Boy lends metal to us all. Another King? They grow like Hydra's heads: I am the Dowglas, fatal to all those That wear those colours on them. What art thou That counterfeitest the person of a King?
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 2021–2059 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 45 of 48 in this edition
Length
490 words · 658 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T42 — English historical figures: a mixed clustercontext only — excluded from the genre comparison · typicality 0.815 (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)
Though I could ſcape ſhot-free at London, I fear the ſhot heere: here's no ſcoring, but vpon the pate. Soft who are you? Sir Walter Blunt, there's Honour for you: here's no vanity, I am as hot as molten Lead, and as heauy too; heauen keepe Lead out of mee, I neede no more weight then mine owne Bowelles. I haue led my rag of Muffins where they are pepper'd: there's not three of my 150. left aliue, and they for the Townes end, to beg during life. But who comes heere? What, ſtand'ſt thou idle here? Lend me thy ſword, Many a Nobleman likes ſtarke and ſtiffe Vnder the hooues of vaunting enemies, Whoſe deaths are vnreuengd. Prethy lend me thy ſword O Hal, I prethee giue me leaue to breath awhile: Turke Gregory neuer did ſuch deeds in Armes, as I haue done this day. I haue paid Percy, I haue made him ſure. He is indeed, and liuing to kill thee: I prethee lend me thy ſword. Nay Hal, if Percy bee aliue, thou getſt not my Sword; but take my Piſtoll if thou wilt. Giue it me: What, is it in the Caſe? I Hal, 'tis hot: There's that will Sacke a City. What, is it a time to ieſt and dally now. If Percy be aliue, Ile pierce him: if he do come in my way, ſo: if he do not, if I come in his (willingly) let him make a Carbonado of me: I like not ſuch grinning honour as Sir Walter hath: Giue mee life, which if I can ſaue, ſo: if not, honour comes vnlook'd for, and ther's an end. I prethee Harry withdraw thy ſelfe, thou bleedeſt too much: Lord Iohn of Lancaſter, go you with him. Not I, my Lord, vnleſſe I did bleed too. I beſeech your Maieſty make vp, Leaſt you retirement do amaze your friends. I will do ſo: My Lord of Weſtmerland leade him to his Tent. Come my Lord, Ile leade you to your Tent. Lead me my Lord? I do not need your helpe; And heauen forbid a ſhallow ſcratch ſhould driue The Prince of Wales from ſuch a field as this, Where ſtain'd Nobility lyes troden on, And Rebels Armes triumph in maſſacres. We breath too long: Come coſin Weſtmerland, Our duty this way lies, for heauens ſake come. By heauen thou haſt deceiu'd me Lancaſter, I did not thinke thee Lord of ſuch a ſpirit: Before, I lou'd thee as a Brother, Iohn; But now, I do reſpect thee as my Soule. I ſaw him hold Lord Percy at the point, With luſtier maintenance then I did looke for Of ſuch an vngrowne Warriour. O this Boy lends mettall to vs all. Another King? They grow like Hydra's heads: I am the Dowglas, fatall to all thoſe That weare thoſe colours on them. What art thou That counterfeit'ſt the perſon of a King?