Shakespeare, William · published 1603 · first performed or written 1601 [1600-1601] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men · at University unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 517 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
A pretty wretch! this is a change indeed: O Time, how swiftly runs our joys away? Content on earth was never certain bred, To day we laugh and live, to morrow dead. How now, what noise is that? Stay there until I come, O thou wild king, give me my father: Speak, say, where's my father? Dead. Who hath murdered him? speak, i'll not Be juggled with, for he is murdered. True, but not by him. By whom, by heaven I'll be resolved. Let him go Gertred, away, I fear him not, There's such divinity doth wall a king, That treason dares not look on. Let him go Gertred, that your father is murdered, 'tis true, and we most sorry for it, Being the chiefest pillar of our state: Therefore will you like a most desperate gamester, Swoop-stake-like, draw at friend, and foe, and all? To his good friends thus wide I'll open mine arms, And lock them in my heart, but to his foes, I will no reconcilement but by blood. Why now you speak like a most loving son: And that in soul we sorrow for for his death, Yourself ere long shall be a witness, Mean while be patiented, and content yourself. Who's this, Ofelia? O my dear sister! Is't possible a young maids life, Should be as mortal as an old man's saw? O heavens themselves! how now Oselia? Well God a mercy, I a been gathering of flowers Here, here is rue for you, You may call it herb a grace a Sundays, here's some for me too: you must wear your rue With a difference, there's a daisy. Here Love, there's rosemary for you For remembrance: I pray Love remember, And there's pansey for thoughts. A document in madness, thoughts, remembrance: O God, O God There is fennel for you, I would a given you Some violets, but they all withered, when My father died: alas, they say the owl was A Baker's daughter, we see what we are, But can not tell what we shall be. For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy. Thoughts & afflictions, torments worse than hell. Nay Love, I pray you make no words of this now: I pray now, you shall sing a down, And you a down a, 'tis a the King's daughter And the false steward, and if any body Ask you of any thing, say you this. Tomorrow is saint Valentine's day, All in the morning betime, And a maid at your window, To be your Valentine: The young man rose, and daned his clothes, And dupt the chamber door, Let in the maid, that out a maid Never departed more. Nay I pray mark now, By gisle, and by saint Charity, Away, and fie for shame: Young men will do't when they come too'●● By cock they are too blame. Quoth she, before you tumbled me, You promised me to wed. So would I a done, by yonder Sun, If thou hadst not come to my bed. So God be with you all, Good bye Ladies. Good bye you 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)
A pretty wretch! this is a change indeede: O Time, how swiftly runnes our ioyes away? Content on earth was neuer certaine bred, To day we laugh and liue, to morrow dead. How now, what noyse is that? Stay there vntill I come, O thou vilde king, giue me my father: Speake, say, where's my father? Dead. Who hath murdred him? speake, i'le not Be juggled with, for he is murdred. True, but not by him. By whome, by heau'n I'le be resolued. Let him goe Gertred, away, I feare him not, There's such diuinitie doth wall a king, That treason dares not looke on. Let him goe Gertred, that your father is murdred, T'is true, and we most sory for it, Being the chiefest piller of our state: Therefore will you like a most desperate gamster, Swoop-stake-like, draw at friend, and foe, and all? To his good friends thus wide I'le ope mine arms, And locke them in my hart, but to his foes, I will no reconcilement but by bloud. Why now you speake like a most louing sonne: And that in soule we sorrow for for his death, Your selfe ere long shall be a witnesse, Meane while be patient, and content your selfe. Who's this, Ofelia? O my deere sister! I'st possible a yong maides life, Should be as mortall as an olde mans sawe? O heau'ns themselues! how now Oselia? Wel God a mercy, I a bin gathering of floures Here, here is rew for you, You may call it hearb a grace a Sundayes, Heere's some for me too: you must weare your rew With a difference, there's a dazie. Here Loue, there's rosemary for you For remembrance: I pray Loue remember, And there's pansey for thoughts. A document in madnes, thoughts, remembrance: O God, O God! There is fennell for you, I would a giu'n you Some violets, but they all withered, when My father died: alas, they say the owle was A Bakers daughter, we see what we are, But can not tell what we shall be. For bonny sweete Robin is all my ioy. Thoughts & afflictions, torments worse than hell. Nay Loue, I pray you make no words of this now: I pray now, you shall sing a downe, And you a downe a, t'is a the Kings daughter And the false steward, and if any body Aske you of any thing, say you this. Tomorrow is saint Valentines day, All in the morning betime, And a maide at your window, To be your Valentine: The yong man rose, and dan'd his clothes, And dupt the chamber doore, Let in the maide, that out a maide Neuer departed more. Nay I pray marke now, By gisle, and by saint Charitie, Away, and fie for shame: Yong men will doo't when they come too' By cocke they are too blame. Quoth she, before you tumbled me, You promised me to wed. So would I a done, by yonder Sunne, If thou hadst not come to my bed. So God be with you all, God bwy Ladies. God bwy you Loue.