Shakespeare, William · published 1603 · first performed or written 1601 [1600-1601] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men · at University unassigned nearest T5 Christian faith, sin and salvation · 510 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T5: god, christ, david, sin, holy, israel, lord, mercy, sins, faith.
Angels and Ministers of grace defend us, Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damned, Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell: Be thy intents wicked or charitable, Thou comest in such questionable shape, That I will speak to thee, I'll call thee Hamlet, King, Father, Royal Dane, O answer me, let me not burst in ignorance, But say why thy canonized bones hearsed in death Have burst their ceremonies: why thy Sepulchre, In which we saw thee quietly interred, Hath burst his ponderous and marble jaws, To cast thee up again: what may this mean, That thou, dead corpse, again in complete steel, Revissets' thus the glimpses of the Moon, Making night hideous, and we fools of nature, So horridely to shake our disposition, With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? Say, speak, wherefore, what may this mean? It beckons you, as though it had something To impart to you alone. Look with what courteous action It waves you to a more removed ground, But do not go with it. No, by no means my Lord. It will not speak, then will I follow it. What if it tempt you toward the flood my Lord. That beccles o'er his base, into the sea, And there assume some other horrible shape, Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason, And drive you into madness: think of it. Still am I called, go on, i'll follow thee. My Lord, you shall not go. Why what should be the fear? I do not set my life at a pins fee, And for my soul, what can it do to that? Being a thing immortal, like itself, Go on, i'll follow thee. My Lord be ruled, you shall not go. My fate cries out, and makes each petty Artive As hardy as the Nemeon lions nerve, Still am I called, unhand me gentlemen; By heaven i'll make a ghost of him that lets me, Away I say, go on, i'll follow thee. He waxeth desperate with imagination. Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. Have after; to what issue will this sort? Let's follow, 'tis not fit thus to obey him. I'll go no farther, whither wilt thou lead me? Mark me. I will. I am thy father's spirit, doomed for a time To walk the night, and all the day Confined in flaming fire, Till the foul crimes done in my days of Nature A repurged and burnt away. Alas poor Ghost. Nay pity me not, but to my unfolding Lend thy listening ear, but that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison house I would a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, frieze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful Porpentine, But this same blazon must not be, to ears of flesh and blood Hamlet, if ever thou didst thy dear father love.
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)
Angels and Ministers of grace defend vs, Be thou a spirite of health, or goblin damn'd, Bring with thee ayres from heanen, or blasts from hell: Be thy intents wicked or charitable, Thou commest in such questionable shape, That I will speake to thee, Ile call thee Hamlet, King, Father, Royall Dane, O answere mee, let mee not burst in ignorance, But say why thy canonizd bones hearsed in death Haue burst their ceremonies: why thy Sepulcher, In which wee saw thee quietly interr'd, Hath burst his ponderous and marble Iawes, To cast thee vp againe: what may this meane, That thou, dead corse, againe in compleate steele, Reuissets thus the glimses of the Moone, Making night hideous, and we fooles of nature, So horridely to shake our disposition, With thoughts beyond the reaches of our soules? Say, speake, wherefore, what may this meane? It beckons you, as though it had something To impart to you alone. Looke with what courteous action It waues you to a more remoued ground, But do not go with it. No, by no meanes my Lord. It will not speake, then will I follow it. What if it tempt you toward the flood my Lord. That beckles ore his bace, into the sea, And there assume some other horrible shape, Which might depriue your soueraigntie of reason, And driue you into madnesse: thinke of it. Still am I called, go on, ile follow thee. My Lord, you shall not go. Why what should be the feare? I do not set my life at a pinnes fee, And for my soule, what can it do to that? Being a thing immortall, like it selfe, Go on, ile follow thee. My Lord be rulde, you shall not goe. My fate cries out, and makes each pety Artiue As hardy as the Nemeon Lyons nerue, Still am I cald, vnhand me gentlemen; By heauen ile make a ghost of him that lets me, Away I say, go on, ile follow thee. He waxeth desperate with imagination. Something is rotten in the state of Denmarke. Haue after; to what issue will this sort? Lets follow, tis not fit thus to obey him. Ile go no farther, whither wilt thou leade me? Marke me. I will. I am thy fathers spirit, doomd for a time To walke the night, and all the day Confinde in flaming fire, Till the foule crimes done in my dayes of Nature A repurged and burnt away. Alas poore Ghost. Nay pitty me not, but to my vnfolding Lend thy listning eare, but that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison house I would a tale vnfold, whose lightest word Would harrow vp thy soule, freeze thy yong blood, Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular haire to stand on end Like quils vpon the fretfull Porpentine, But this same blazon must not be, to eares of flesh and blood Hamlet, if euer thou didst thy deere father loue.