Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1597 [c.1597-1598] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T43 York and Lancaster: dynastic claims and typicality 0.65 · 490 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T43: henry, king, richard, warwick, york, edward, father, duke, crown, son.
Oh Heaven, that one might read the Book of Fate, And see the revolution of the Times Make Mountains level, and the Continent (Weary of solid firmness) melt itself Into the Sea: and other Times, to see The beachie Girdle of the Ocean Too wide for Neptune's hips; how Chances mocks And Changes fill the Cup of Alteration With diverse Liquors. 'Tis not ten years gone, Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends, Did feast together; and in two years after, Were they at Wars. It is but eight years since, This Percy was the man, nearest my Soul, Who, like a Brother, toiled in my Affairs, And laid his Love and Life under my foot: Yea, for my sake, even to the eyes of Richard Gave him defiance. But which of you was by (You Cousin Nevil, as I may remember) When Richard, with his Eye, brimful of Tears, (Then checked, and rated by Northumberland) Did speak these words (now proved a Prophecy:) Northumberland, thou Ladder, by the which My Cousin Bullingbrooke ascends my Throne: (Though then, Heaven knows, I had no such intent, But that necessity so bowed the State, That I and Greatness were compelled to kiss:) The Time shall come (thus did he follow it) The Time will come, that foul Sin gathering head, Shall break into Corruption: so went on, Foretelling this same Time's Condition, And the division of our Amity. There is a History in all men's Lives, Figuring the nature of the Times deceased: The which observed, a man may prophesy With a near aim, of the main chance of things, As yet not come to Life, which in their Seeds And weak beginnings lie entreasured: Such things become the Hatch and Brood of Time; And by the necessary form of this, King Richard might create a perfect guess, That great Northumberland, then false to him, Would of that Seed, grow to a greater falseness, Which should not find a ground to root upon, Unless on you. Are these things than Necessities? Then let us meet them like Necessities; And that same word, even now cries out on us: They say, the Bishop and Northumberland Are fifty thousand strong. It cannot be (my Lord:) Rumour doth double, like the Voice, and Echo, The numbers of the feared. Please it your Grace To go to bed, upon my Life (my Lord) The Powers that you already have sent forth, Shall bring this Prize in very easily. To comfort you the more, I have received A certain instance, that Glendour is dead. Your Majesty hath been this fortnight ill, And these unseasoned hours perforce must add Unto your Sickness. I will take your counsel: And were these inward Wars once out of hand, We would (dear Lords) unto the Holy-Land. Come-on, come-on, come-on: give me your Hand, Sir; give me your Hand, Sir: an early stirrer, by the Rood. And how doth my good Cousin Silence?
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 872–935 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 24 of 51 in this edition
Length
490 words · 663 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T43 — York and Lancaster: dynastic claims and conflictcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.649 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T13 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Oh Heauen, that one might read the Book of Fate, And ſee the reuolution of the Times Make Mountaines leuell, and the Continent (Wearie of ſolide firmeneſſe) melt it ſelfe Into the Sea: and other Times, to ſee The beachie Girdle of the Ocean Too wide for Neptunes hippes; how Chances mocks And Changes fill the Cuppe of Alteration With diuers Liquors. 'Tis not tenne yeeres gone, Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends, Did feaſt together; and in two yeeres after, Were they at Warres. It is but eight yeeres ſince, This Percie was the man, neereſt my Soule, Who, like a Brother, toyl'd in my Affaires, And layd his Loue and Life vnder my foot: Yea, for my ſake, euen to the eyes of Richard Gaue him defiance. But which of you was by (You Couſin Neuil, as I may remember) When Richard, with his Eye, brim-full of Teares, (Then check'd, and rated by Northumberland) Did ſpeake theſe words (now prou'd a Prophecie:) Northumberland, thou Ladder, by the which My Couſin Bullingbrooke aſcends my Throne: (Though then, Heauen knowes, I had no ſuch intent, But that neceſſitie ſo bow'd the State, That I and Greatneſſe were compell'd to kiſſe:) The Time ſhall come (thus did hee follow it) The Time will come, that foule Sinne gathering head, Shall breake into Corruption: ſo went on, Fore-telling this ſame Times Condition, And the diuiſion of our Amitie. There is a Hiſtorie in all mens Liues, Figuring the nature of the Times deceas'd: The which obſeru'd, a man may prophecie With a neere ayme, of the maine chance of things, As yet not come to Life, which in their Seedes And weake beginnings lye entreaſured: Such things become the Hatch and Brood of Time; And by the neceſſarie forme of this, King Richard might create a perfect gueſſe, That great Northumberland, then falſe to him, Would of that Seed, grow to a greater falſeneſſe, Which ſhould not finde a ground to roote vpon, Vnleſſe on you. Are theſe things then Neceſſities? Then let vs meete them like Neceſſities; And that ſame word, euen now cryes out on vs: They ſay, the Biſhop and Northumberland Are fiftie thouſand ſtrong. It cannot be (my Lord:) Rumor doth double, like the Voice, and Eccho, The numbers of the feared. Pleaſe it your Grace To goe to bed, vpon my Life (my Lord) The Pow'rs that you alreadie haue ſent forth, Shall bring this Prize in very eaſily. To comfort you the more, I haue receiu'd A certaine inſtance, that Glendour is dead. Your Maieſtie hath beene this fort-night ill, And theſe vnſeaſon'd howres perforce muſt adde Vnto your Sickneſſe. I will take your counſaile: And were theſe inward Warres once out of hand, Wee would (deare Lords) vnto the Holy-Land. Come-on, come-on, come-on: giue mee your Hand, Sir; giue mee your Hand, Sir: an early ſtirrer, by the Rood. And how doth my good Couſin Silence?