Shakespeare, William · published 1600 · first performed or written 1597 [c.1597-1598] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T43 York and Lancaster: dynastic claims and · 518 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T43: henry, king, richard, warwick, york, edward, father, duke, crown, son.
I think he's gone to hunt, my lord, at Windsor. And how accompanied? I do not know, my lord. Is not his brother Thomas of Clarence with him? No, my good lord, he is in presence here. What would my lord and father? Nothing but well to thee Thomas of Clarence, How chance thou art not with the prince thy brother? He loves thee and thou dost neglect him, Thomas, Thou hast a better place in his affection Then all thy brothers, cherish it my boy: And noble offices thou mayst effect Of mediation after I am dead, Between his greatness and thy other brethren: Therefore omit him not, blunt not his love, Nor lose the good advantage of his grace, By seeming cold, or careless of his will, For he is gracious if he be obseru'de, He hath a tear for pity, and a hand, Open as day for meeting charity, Yet notwithstanding being incensed, he is flint. As humorous as winter, and as sudden As flaws congealed in the spring of day: His temper therefore must be well observed, Chide him for faults, and do it reverently, When you perceive his blood inclined to mirth: But being moody, give him time and scope, Till that his passions, like a whale on ground Confound themselves with working learn this Thomas, And thou shalt prove a shelter to thy friends, A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in, That the united vessel of their blood, (Mingled with venom of suggestion, As force perforce, the age will power it in,) Shall never leak, though it do work as strong, As Aconitum, or rash gunpowder. I shall observe him with all care and love. Why art thou not at Winsore with him Thomas? He i● not there to day he dines in London. And how accompanied? With Poynes and other his continual followers. Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds, And he the noble image of my youth, Is overspread with them, therefore my grief Stretches itself beyond the hour of death: The blood weeps from my heart when I do shape, In forms imaginary, th'unguided days, And rotten times that you shall look upon, When I am sleeping with my ancestors: For when his headstrong riot hath no curb, When rage and hot blood are his counsellors, When means and lavish manners meet together, Oh with what wings shall his affections she, Towards fronting peril and opposed decay? My gracious Lord, you look beyond him quite, The prince but studies his companions, Like a strange tongue wherein to gain the language: 'tis needful that the most immodest word, Be looked upon and learned, which once attained, Your highness knows comes to no further use, But to be known and hated: so, like gross terms, The prince will in the perfectness of time, Cast off his followers, and their memory Shall as a pattern, or a measure live, By which his grace must meet the lives of other, Turning past-euils to advantages. 'tis seldom when the Bee doth leave her comb, In the dead carrion: who here▪ Westmoreland?
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)
I thinke hees gone to hunt, my lord, at Winsor. And how accompanied? I do not know, my lord. Is not his brother Thomas of Clarence with him? No, my good lord, he is in presence here. What would my lord and father? Nothing but well to thee Thomas of Clarence, How chance thou art not with the prince thy brother? He loues thee and thou dost neglect him, Thomas, Thou hast a better place in his affection Then all thy brothers, cherrish it my boy: And noble offices thou maist effect Of mediation after I am dead, Betweene his greatnesse and thy other brethren: Therefore omit him not, blunt not his loue, Nor loose the good aduantage of his grace, By seeming cold, or carelesse of his will, For he is gracious if he be obseru'de, He hath a teare for pittie, and a hand, Open as day for meeting charitie, Yet notwithstanding being incenst, he is flint. As humorous as winter, and as sodaine As flawes congealed in the spring of day: His temper therefore must be well obseru'd, Chide him for faults, and do it reuerently, When you perceiue his bloud inclind to mirth: But being moody, giue him time and scope, Till that his passions, like a whale on ground Confound themselues with working learne this Thomas, And thou shalt proue a shlter to thy friends, A hoope of gold to binde thy brothers in, That the vnited vessell of their bloud, (Mingled with venome of suggestion, As force perforce, the age will powre it in,) Shall neuer leake, though it doe worke as strong, As Aconitum, or rash gunpowder. I shall obserue him with all care and loue. Why art thou not at Winsore with him Thomas? He i not there to day he dines in London. And how accompanied? With Pones and other his continuall followers. Most subiect is the fattest soyle to weeds, And he the noble image of my youth, Is ouerspread with them, therefore my griefe Stretches it selfe beyond the howre of death: The bloud weepes from my heart when I do shape, In formes imaginary, th'unguyded daies, And rotten times that you shall looke vpon, When I am sleeping with my auncestors: For when his head-strong riot hath no curbe, VVhen rage and hot bloud are his counsellors, VVhen meanes and lauish manners meete together, Oh with what wings shal his affections she, Towards fronting peril and opposde decay? My gracious Lord, you looke beyond him quite, The prince but studies his companions, Like a strange tongue wherein to gaine the language: Tis needfull that the most immodest word, Be lookt vpon and learnt, which once attaind, Your highnesse knowes comes to no further vse, But to be knowne and hated: so, like grosse termes, The prince will in the perfectnesse of time, Cast off his followers, and their memory Shall as a pattern, or a measure liue, By which his grace must mete the liues of other, Turning past-euils to aduantages. Tis seldome when the bee doth leaue her comb, In the dead carion: whos here▪ Westmerland?