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 · 478 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.
The King himself: who Dowglas grieves at hart So many of his shadows thou hast met, And not the very King. I have two Boys Seek Percy and thyself about the Field: But seeing thou fallest on me so luckily, I will assay thee: so defend thyself. I fear thou art another counterfeit: And yet infaith thou bearest thee like a King: But mine I am sure thou art, whoere thou be, And thus I win thee. Hold up they head vile Scot, or thou art like Never to hold it up again: the Spirits Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt, are in my Arms; It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee, Who never promiseth, but he means to pay. Cheerly My Lord: how fares your Grace? Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for secure sent, And so hath Clifton: I'll to Clifton strait. Stay, and breath awhile. Thou hast redeemed thy lost opinion, And showed thou makest some tender of my life In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. O heaven, they did me too much injury, That ever said I hearkened to your death. If it were so, I might have let alone The insulting hand of Dowglas over you, Which would have been as speedy in your end, As all the poisonous Potions in the world, And saved the Treacherous labour of your Son. Make up to Clifton, I'll to Sir Nicholas Gausey. If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. Thou speakest as if I would deny my name. My name is Harrie Percy. Why then I see a very valiant rebel of that name. I am the Prince of Wales, and think not Percy, To share with me in glory any more: Two Stars keep not their motion in one Sphere, Nor can one England brook a double reign, Of Harry Percy, and the Prince of Wales. Nor shall it Harry, for the hour is come To end the one of us; and would to heaven, Thy name in Arms, were now as great as mine. I'll make it greater, ere I part from thee, And all the budding Honours on thy Crest, I'll crop, to make a Garland for my head. I can no longer brook thy Vanities. Well said Hal, to it Hal. Nay you shall find no Boys play here, I can tell you. Oh Harry, thou hast robbed me of my youth: I better brook the loss of brittle life, Then those proud Titles thou hast won of me, They wound my thoughts worse, than the sword my flesh: But thought's the slave of Life, and Life, Time's fool; And Time, that takes survey of all the world, Must have a stop. O, I could Prophesy, But that the Earth, and the cold hand of death, Lies on my Tongue: No Percy, thou art dust And food for—
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 2060–2116 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 46 of 48 in this edition
Length
478 words · 611 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T42 — English historical figures: a mixed clustercontext only — excluded from the genre comparison · typicality 0.790 (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)
The King himſelfe: who Dowglas grieues at hart So many of his ſhadowes thou haſt met, And not the very King. I haue two Boyes Seeke Percy and thy ſelfe about the Field: But ſeeing thou fall'ſt on me ſo luckily, I will aſſay thee: ſo defend thy ſelfe. I feare thou art another counterfeit: And yet infaith thou bear'ſt thee like a King: But mine I am ſure thou art, whoere thou be, And thus I win thee. Hold vp they head vile Scot, or thou art like Neuer to hold it vp againe: the Spirits Of valiant Sherly, Stafford, Blunt, are in my Armes; It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee, Who neuer promiſeth, but he meanes to pay. Cheerely My Lord: how fare's your Grace? Sir Nicholas Gawſey hath for ſuccour ſent, And ſo hath Clifton: Ile to Clifton ſtraight. Stay, and breath awhile. Thou haſt redeem'd thy loſt opinion, And ſhew'd thou mak'ſt ſome tender of my life In this faire reſcue thou haſt brought to mee. O heauen, they did me too much iniury, That euer ſaid I hearkned to your death. If it were ſo, I might haue let alone The inſulting hand of Dowglas ouer you, Which would haue bene as ſpeedy in your end, As all the poyſonous Potions in the world, And ſau'd the Treacherous labour of your Sonne. Make vp to Clifton, Ile to Sir Nicholas Gauſey. If I miſtake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. Thou ſpeak'ſt as if I would deny my name. My name is Harrie Percie. Why then I ſee a very valiant rebel of that name. I am the Prince of Wales, and thinke not Percy, To ſhare with me in glory any more: Two Starres keepe not their motion in one Sphere, Nor can one England brooke a double reigne, Of Harry Percy, and the Prince of Wales. Nor ſhall it Harry, for the houre is come To end the one of vs; and would to heauen, Thy name in Armes, were now as great as mine. Ile make it greater, ere I part from thee, And all the budding Honors on thy Creſt, Ile crop, to make a Garland for my head. I can no longer brooke thy Vanities. Well ſaid Hal, to it Hal. Nay you ſhall finde no Boyes play heere, I can tell you. Oh Harry, thou haſt rob'd me of my youth: I better brooke the loſſe of brittle life, Then thoſe proud Titles thou haſt wonne of me, They wound my thoghts worſe, then the ſword my fleſh: But thought's the ſlaue of Life, and Life, Times foole; And Time, that takes ſuruey of all the world, Muſt haue a ſtop. O, I could Propheſie, But that the Earth, and the cold hand of death, Lyes on my Tongue: No Percy, thou art duſt And food for —