Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1597 [c.1597-1598] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T18 Rebels, barons and the king's wars at ho typicality 0.83 · 484 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
Here stand (my Lords) and send discoverers forth, To know the numbers of our Enemies. We have sent forth already. 'Tis well done. My Friends, and Brethren (in these great Affairs) I must acquaint you, that I have received New-dated Letters from Northumberland: Their cold intent, tenure, and substance thus. Here doth he wish his Person, with such Powers As might hold sortance with his Quality, The which he could not levy: whereupon He is retired, to ripe his growing Fortunes, To Scotland; and concludes in hearty prayers, That your Attempts may over-live the hazard, And fearful meeting of their Opposite. Thus do the hopes we have in him, touch ground, And dash themselves to pieces. Now? what news? West of this Forest, scarcely off a mile, In goodly form, comes on the Enemy: And by the ground they hide, I judge their number Upon, or near, the rate of thirty thousand. The just proportion that we gave them out. Let us sway-on, and face them in the field. What well-appointed Leader fronts us here? I think it is my Lord of Westmoreland. Health, and fair greeting from our General, The Prince, Lord Iohn, and Duke of Lancaster. Say on (my Lord of Westmoreland) in peace: What doth concern your coming? Then (my Lord) Unto your Grace do I in chief address The substance of my Speech. If that Rebellion Came like itself, in base and abject Routs, Led on by bloody Youth, guarded with Rage, And countenanced by Boys, and Beggary: I say, if damned Commotion so appear, In his true, native, and most proper shape, You (Reverend Father, and these Noble Lords) Had not been here, to dress the ugly form Of base, and bloody Insurrection, With your fair Honours. You, Lord Archbishop, Whose Sea is by a Civil Peace maintained, Whose Beard, the Silver Hand of Peace hath touched, Whose Learning, and good Letters, Peace hath tutored, Whose white Inuestments figure Innocence, The Dove, and very blessed Spirit of Peace. Wherefore do you so ill translate yourself, Out of the Speech of Peace, that bears such grace, Into the harsh and boisterous Tongue of War? Turning your Books to Graves, your Ink to Blood, Your Pens to Lances, and your Tongue divine To a loud Trumpet, and a Point of War. Wherefore do I this? so the Question stands. Briefly to this end: We are all diseased, And with our surfeiting, and wanton hours, Have brought ourselves into a burning Fever, And we must bleed for it: of which Disease, Our late King Richard (being infected) died. But (my most Noble Lord of Westmoreland) I take not on me here as a Physician, Nor do I, as an Enemy to Peace, Troop in the Throngs of Military men: But rather show a while like fearful War, To diet rank Minds, sick of happiness, And purge th' obstructions, which begin to stop
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1064–1129 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 30 of 51 in this edition
Length
484 words · 659 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T18 — Rebels, barons and the king's wars at homecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.835 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T22 · seed 44: T13 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Here ſtand (my Lords) and ſend diſcouerers forth, To know the numbers of our Enemies. Wee haue ſent forth alreadie. 'Tis well done. My Friends, and Brethren (in theſe great Affaires) I muſt acquaint you, that I haue receiu'd New-dated Letters from Northumberland: Their cold intent, tenure, and ſubſtance thus. Here doth hee wiſh his Perſon, with ſuch Powers As might hold ſortance with his Qualitie, The which hee could not leuie: whereupon Hee is retyr'd, to ripe his growing Fortunes, To Scotland; and concludes in heartie prayers, That your Attempts may ouer-liue the hazard, And fearefull meeting of their Oppoſite. Thus do the hopes we haue in him, touch ground, And daſh themſelues to pieces. Now? what newes? Weſt of this Forreſt, ſcarcely off a mile, In goodly forme, comes on the Enemie: And by the ground they hide, I iudge their number Vpon, or neere, the rate of thirtie thouſand. The iuſt proportion that we gaue them out. Let vs ſway-on, and face them in the field. What well-appointed Leader fronts vs here? I thinke it is my Lord of Weſtmerland. Health, and faire greeting from our Generall, The Prince, Lord Iohn, and Duke of Lancaſter. Say on (my Lord of Weſtmerland) in peace: What doth concerne your comming? Then (my Lord) Vnto your Grace doe I in chiefe addreſſe The ſubſtance of my Speech. If that Rebellion Came like it ſelfe, in baſe and abiect Routs, Led on by bloodie Youth, guarded with Rage, And countenanc'd by Boyes, and Beggerie: I ſay, if damn'd Commotion ſo appeare, In his true, natiue, and moſt proper ſhape, You (Reuerend Father, and theſe Noble Lords) Had not beene here, to dreſſe the ougly forme Of baſe, and bloodie Inſurrection, With your faire Honors. You, Lord Arch-biſhop, Whoſe Sea is by a Ciuill Peace maintain'd, Whoſe Beard, the Siluer Hand of Peace hath touch'd, Whoſe Learning, and good Letters, Peace hath tutor'd, Whoſe white Inueſtments figure Innocence, The Doue, and very bleſſed Spirit of Peace. Wherefore doe you ſo ill tranſlate your ſelfe, Out of the Speech of Peace, that beares ſuch grace, Into the harſh and boyſtrous Tongue of Warre? Turning your Bookes to Graues, your Inke to Blood, Your Pennes to Launces, and your Tongue diuine To a lowd Trumpet, and a Point of Warre. Wherefore doe I this? ſo the Queſtion ſtands. Briefely to this end: Wee are all diſeas'd, And with our ſurfetting, and wanton howres, Haue brought our ſelues into a burning Feuer, And wee muſt bleede for it: of which Diſeaſe, Our late King Richard (being infected) dy'd. But (my moſt Noble Lord of Weſtmerland) I take not on me here as a Phyſician, Nor doe I, as an Enemie to Peace, Troope in the Throngs of Militarie men: But rather ſhew a while like fearefull Warre, To dyet ranke Mindes, ſicke of happineſſe, And purge th' obſtructions, which begin to ſtop