Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1599 (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T10 England and France: war, embassy and pea · 497 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
Why now thou hast unwisht five thousand men: Which likes me better, then to wish us one. You know your places: God be with you all. Once more I come to know of thee King Harry, If for thy Ransom thou wilt now compound, Before thy most assured Overthrow: For certainly, thou art so near the Gulf, Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy The Constable desires thee, thou wilt-mind Thy followers of Repentance; that their Souls May make a peaceful and a sweet retire From off these fields: where (wretches) their poor bodies Must lie and fester. Who hath sent thee now? The Constable of France. I pray thee bear my former Answer back: Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones. Good God, why should they mock poor fellows thus? The man that once did sell the Lion's skin While the beast lived, was killed with hunting him. A many of our bodies shall no doubt Find Native Graves: upon the which, I trust Shall witness live in Brass of this day's work. And those that leave their valiant bones in France, Dying like men, though buried in your Dunghills, They shall be famed: for there the Sun shall greet them, And draw their honours reeking up to Heaven, Leaving their earthly parts to choke your Clime, The smell whereof shall breed a Plague in France. Mark then abounding valour in our English: That being dead, like to the bullets crasing, Break out into a second course of mischief, Killing in relapse of Mortality. Let me speak proudly: Tell the Constable, We are but Warriors for the working day: Our Gayness and our Gilt are all besmyrcht With rainy Marching in the painful field. There's not a piece of feather in our Host: Good argument (I hope) we will not fly: And time hath worn us into slovenrie. But by the Mass, our hearts are in the trim: And my poor Soldiers tell me, yet ere Night, They'll be in fresher Robes, or they will pluck The gay new Coats o'er the French Soldiers heads, And turn them out of service. If they do this, As if God please, they shall; my Ransom then Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour: Come thou no more for Ransom, gentle Herald, They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints: Which if they have, as I will leave 'em them, Shall yield them little, tell the Constable. I shall, King Harry. And so far thee well: Thou never shalt hear Herald any more. I fear thou wilt once more come again for a Ransom. My Lord, most humbly on my knee I beg The leading of the Vanguard. Take it, brave York. Now Soldiers march away, And how thou pleasest God, dispose the day. Yield Cur. je pense que vous estes le Gentilhome de bon quality. Qualtitie calmie cuslure me. Art thou a Gentleman? What is thy Name? discuss. O Seigneur Dieu.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Why now thou haſt vnwiſht fiue thouſand men: Which likes me better, then to wiſh vs one. You know your places: God be with you all. Once more I come to know of thee King Harry, If for thy Ranſome thou wilt now compound, Before thy moſt aſſured Ouerthrow: For certainly, thou art ſo neere the Gulfe, Thou needs muſt be englutted. Beſides, in mercy The Conſtable deſires thee, thou wilt-mind Thy followers of Repentance; that their Soules May make a peacefull and a ſweet retyre From off theſe fields: where (wretches) their poore bodies Muſt lye and ſeſter. Who hath ſent thee now? The Conſtable of France. I pray thee beare my former Anſwer back: Bid them atchieue me, and then ſell my bones. Good God, why ſhould they mock poore fellowes thus? The man that once did ſell the Lyons skin While the beaſt liu'd, was kill'd with hunting him. A many of our bodyes ſhall no doubt Find Natiue Graues: vpon the which, I truſt Shall witneſſe liue in Braſſe of this dayes worke. And thoſe that leaue their valiant bones in France, Dying like men, though buryed in your Dunghills, They ſhall be fam'd: for there the Sun ſhall greet them, And draw their honors reeking vp to Heauen, Leauing their earthly parts to choake your Clyme, The ſmell whereof ſhall breed a Plague in France. Marke then abounding valour in our Engliſh: That being dead, like to the bullets craſing, Breake out into a ſecond courſe of miſchiefe, Killing in relapſe of Mortalitie. Let me ſpeake prowdly: Tell the Conſtable, We are but Warriors for the working day: Our Gayneſſe and our Gilt are all beſmyrcht With raynie Marching in the painefull field. There's not a piece of feather in our Hoaſt: Good argument (I hope) we will not flye: And time hath worne vs into ſlouenrie. But by the Maſſe, our hearts are in the trim: And my poore Souldiers tell me, yet ere Night, They'le be in freſher Robes, or they will pluck The gay new Coats o're the French Souldiers heads, And turne them out of ſeruice. If they doe this, As if God pleaſe, they ſhall; my Ranſome then Will ſoone be leuyed. Herauld, ſaue thou thy labour: Come thou no more for Ranſome, gentle Herauld, They ſhall haue none, I ſweare, but theſe my ioynts: Which if they haue, as I will leaue vm them, Shall yeeld them little, tell the Conſtable. I ſhall, King Harry. And ſo fare thee well: Thou neuer ſhalt heare Herauld any more. I feare thou wilt once more come againe for a Ranſome. My Lord, moſt humbly on my knee I begge The leading of the Vaward. Take it, braue Yorke. Now Souldiers march away, And how thou pleaſeſt God, diſpoſe the day. Yeeld Curre. Ie penſe que vous eſtes le Gentilhome de bon qualitee. Qualtitie calmie cuſlure me. Art thou a Gentleman? What is thy Name? diſcuſſe. O Seigneur Dieu.