Shakespeare, William · published 1603 · first performed or written 1601 [1600-1601] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men · at University unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 484 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Alas, it is the weakness of thy brain, Which makes thy tongue to blazon thy heart's grief: But as I have a soul, I swear by heaven, I never knew of this most horrid murder: But Hamlet, this is only fantasy, And for my love forget these idle fits. Idle, no mother, my pulse doth beat like yours, It is not madness that possesseth Hamlet. O mother, if ever you did my dear father love, Forbear the adulterous bed to night, And win yourself by little as you may, In time it may be you will loathe him quite: And mother, but assist me in revenge, And in his death your infamy shall die. Hamlet, I vow by that majesty, That knows our thoughts, and looks into our hearts, I will conceal, consent, and do my best, What stratagem soe'er thou shalt devise. It is enough, mother good night: Come sir, I'll provide for you a grave, Who was in life a foolish prating knave. Now Gertred, what says our son, how do you find him? Alas my lord, as raging as the sea: Whenas he came, I first bespoke him fair, But then he throws and tosses me about, As one forgetting that I was his mother: At last I called for help: and as I cried, Corambis Called, which Hamlet no sooner heard, but whips me Out his rapier, and cries, a Rat, a Rat, and in his rage The good old man he kills. Why this his madness will undo our state. Lords go to him, inquire the body out. We will my Lord. Gertred, your son shall presently to England, His shipping is already furnished, And we have sent by Rossencraft and Gilderstone, Our letters to our dear brother of England, For Hamlets welfare and his happiness: Haply the air and climate of the Country May please him better than his native home: See where he comes. My lord, we can by no means Know of him where the body is. Now son Hamlet, where is this dead body? At supper, not where he is eating, but Where he is eaten, a certain company of politic worms are even now at him. Father, your fat King, and your lean Beggar Are but variable services, two dishes to one mess: Look you, a man may fish with that worm That hath eaten of a King, And a Beggar eat that fish, Which that worm hath caught. What of this? Nothing father, but to tell you, how a King May go a progress through the guts of a Beggar. But son Hamlet, where is this body? In heaven, if you chance to miss him there, Father, you had best look in the other parts below For him, and if you cannot find him there, You may chance to nose him as you go up the lobby. Make haste and find him out.
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)
Alas, it is the weakenesse of thy braine, Which makes thy tongue to blazon thy hearts griefe: But as I haue a soule, I sweare by heauen, I neuer knew of this most horride murder: But Hamlet, this is onely fantasie, And for my loue forget these idle fits. Idle, no mother, my pulse doth beate like yours, It is not madnesse that possesseth Hamlet. O mother, if euer you did my deare father loue, Forbeare the adulterous bed to night, And win your selfe by little as you may, In time it may be you wil lothe him quite: And mother, but assist mee in reuenge, And in his death your infamy shall die. Hamlet, I vow by that maiesty, That knowes our thoughts, and lookes into our hearts, I will conceale, consent, and doe my best, What stratagem soe're thou shalt deuise. It is enough, mother good night: Come sir, I'le prouide for you a graue, Who was in life a foolish prating knaue. Now Gertred, what sayes our sonne, how doe you finde him? Alas my lord, as raging as the sea: Whenas he came, I first bespake him faire, But then he throwes and tosses me about, As one forgetting that I was his mother: At last I call'd for help: and as I cried, Corambis Call'd, which Hamlet no sooner heard, but whips me Out his rapier, and cries, a Rat, a Rat, and in his rage The good olde man he killes. Why this his madnesse will vndoe our state. Lordes goe to him, inquire the body out. We will my Lord. Gertred, your sonne shall presently to England, His shipping is already furnished, And we haue sent by Rossencraft and Gilderstone, Our letters to our deare brother of England, For Hamlets welfare and his happinesse: Happly the aire and climate of the Country May please him better than his natiue home: See where he comes. My lord, we can by no meanes Know of him where the body is. Now sonne Hamlet, where is this dead body? At supper, not where he is eating, but Where he is eaten, a certaine company of politicke wormes are euen now at him. Father, your fatre King, and your leane Beggar Are but variable seruices, two dishes to one messe: Looke you, a man may fish with that worme That hath eaten of a King, And a Beggar eate that fish, Which that worme hath caught. What of this? Nothing father, but to tell you, how a King May go a progresse through the guttes of a Beggar. But sonne Hamlet, where is this body? In heau'n, if you chance to misse him there, Father, you had best looke in the other partes below For him, and if you cannot finde him there, You may chance to nose him as you go vp the lobby. Make haste and finde him out.