Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1599 (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T10 England and France: war, embassy and pea typicality 0.72 · 511 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
O Diable. O signeur le iour et perdia, toute et perdie. Mor Dieu ma vie, all is confounded all, Reproach, and everlasting shame Sits mocking in our Plumes. O meschante Fortune, do not run away. Why all our ranks are broke. O perdurable shame, let's stab ourselves: Be these the wretches that we played at dice for? Is this the King we sent too, for his ransom? Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame, Let us dye in once more back again, And he that will not follow Bourbon now, Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand Like a base Pander hold the Chamber door, Whilst a base slave, no gentler than my dog, His fairest daughter is contaminated. Disorder that hath spoiled us, friend us now, Let us on heaps go offer up our lives. We are enough yet living in the Field, To smother up the English in our throngs, If any order might be thought upon. The devil take Order now, I'll to the throng; Let life be short, else shame will be too long. Well have we done, thrice-valiant Countrymen, But all's not done, yet keep the French the field. The D. of York commends him to your Majesty Lives he good Uncle: thrice within this hour I saw him down; thrice up again, and fight, From Helmet to the spur, all blood he was. In which array (brave Soldier) doth he lie, Larding the plain: and by his bloody side, (Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing-wounds) The Noble Earl of Suffolk also lies. Suffolk first died, and York all hagled over Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteeped, And takes him by the Beard, kisses the gashes That bloodily did yawn upon his face. He cries aloud; Tarry my Cousin Suffolk, My soul shall thine keep company to heaven: Tarry (sweet soul) for mine, then fly abreast: As in this glorious and well-foughten field We kept together in our Chivalry. Upon these words I came, and cheered him up, He smiled me in the face, reached me his hand, And with a feeble gripe, says: Dear my Lord, Commend my service to my Sovereign, So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck He threw his wounded arm, and kissed his lips, And so espoused to death, with blood he sealed A Testament of Noble-ending-love: The pretty and sweet manner of it forced Those waters from me, which I would have stopped, But I had not so much of man in me, And all my mother came into mine eyes, And gave me up to tears. I blame you not, For hearing this, I must perforce compound With mixtfull eyes, or they will issue to. But hark, what new alarm is this same? The French have reenforced their scattered men: Then every soldier kill his Prisoners, Give the word through. Kill the boys and the luggage, 'Tis expressly against the Law of Arms, 'tis as arrant a piece of knavery mark you now, as can be offered in your Conscience now, is it not?
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1787–1850 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 38 of 51 in this edition
Length
511 words · 693 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T10 — England and France: war, embassy and peacecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.718 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T8 · seed 44: T8 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
O Diable. O ſigneur le iour et perdia, toute et perdie. Mor Dieu ma vie, all is confounded all, Reproach, and euerlaſting ſhame Sits mocking in our Plumes. O meſchante Fortune, do not runne away. Why all our rankes are broke. O perdurable ſhame, let's ſtab our ſelues: Be theſe the wretches that we plaid at dice for? Is this the King we ſent too, for his ranſome? Shame, and eternall ſhame, nothing but ſhame, Let vs dye in once more backe againe, And he that will not follow Burbon now, Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand Like a baſe Pander hold the Chamber doore, Whilſt a baſe ſlaue, no gentler then my dogge, His faireſt daughter is contaminated. Diſorder that hath ſpoyl'd vs, friend vs now, Let vs on heapes go offer vp our liues. We are enow yet liuing in the Field, To ſmother vp the Engliſh in our throngs, If any order might be thought vpon. The diuell take Order now, Ile to the throng; Let life be ſhort, elſe ſhame will be too long. Well haue we done, thrice-valiant Countrimen, But all's not done, yet keepe the French the field. The D. of York commends him to your Maieſty Liues he good Vnckle: thrice within this houre I ſaw him downe; thrice vp againe, and fighting, From Helmet to the ſpurre, all blood he was. In which array (braue Soldier) doth he lye, Larding the plaine: and by his bloody ſide, (Yoake-fellow to his honour-owing-wounds) The Noble Earle of Suffolke alſo lyes. Suffolke firſt dyed, and Yorke all hagled ouer Comes to him, where in gore he lay inſteeped, And takes him by the Beard, kiſſes the gaſhes That bloodily did yawne vpon his face. He cryes aloud; Tarry my Coſin Suffolke, My ſoule ſhall thine keepe company to heauen: Tarry (ſweet ſoule) for mine, then flye a-breſt: As in this glorious and well-foughten field We kept together in our Chiualrie. Vpon theſe words I came, and cheer'd him vp, He ſmil'd me in the face, raught me his hand, And with a feeble gripe, ſayes: Deere my Lord, Commend my ſeruice to my Soueraigne, So did he turne, and ouer Suffolkes necke He threw his wounded arme, and kiſt his lippes, And ſo eſpous'd to death, with blood he ſeal'd A Teſtament of Noble-ending-loue: The prettie and ſweet manner of it forc'd Thoſe waters from me, which I would haue ſtop'd, But I had not ſo much of man in mee, And all my mother came into mine eyes, And gaue me vp to teares. I blame you not, For hearing this, I muſt perforce compound With mixtfull eyes, or they will iſſue to. But hearke, what new alarum is this ſame? The French haue re-enforc'd their ſcatter'd men: Then euery ſouldiour kill his Priſoners, Giue the word through. Kill the poyes and the luggage, 'Tis expreſſely againſt the Law of Armes, tis as arrant a peece of knauery marke you now, as can bee offert in your Conſcience now, is it not?