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 · 526 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.
Why there they say the men are as mad as he. Whose skull was this? This, a plague on him, a mad rogues it was, He powered once a whole flagon of Rhenish of my head, Why do not you know him? this was one Yorickes skull. Was this? I prithee let me see it, alas poor Yoricke I knew him Horatio, A fellow of infinite mirth, he hath carried me twenty times upon his back, here hung those lips that I have Kissed a hundred times, and to see, now they abhor me: Where's your jests now Yoricke? your flashes of merriment: now go to my Lady's chamber, and bid her paint herself an inch thick, to this she must come Yoricke. Horatio, I prithee tell me one thing, dost thou think that, Alexander looked thus? Even so my Lord. And smelled thus? I my lord, no otherwise. No, why might not imagination work, as thus of Alexander, Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander became earth, of earth we make clay, and Alexander being but clay, why might not time bring to pass, that he might stop the boung hole of a beer barrel? Imperious Caesar dead and turned to clay, Might stop a hole, to keep the wind away. What funerall's this that all the Court laments? It shows to be some noble parentage: Stand by a while. What ceremony else? say, what ceremony else? My Lord, we have done all that lies in us, And more than well the church can tolerate, She hath had a Dirge sung for her maiden soul: And but for favour of the king, and you, She had been buried in the open fields, Where now she is allowed christian burial. So, I tell thee churlish Priest, a ministering Angel shall my sister be, when thou liest howling. The fair Ofelia dead! Sweets to the sweet, farewell: I had thought to adorn thy bridal bed, fair maid, And not to follow thee unto thy grave. Forbear the earth a while: sister farewell: Now power your earth on, Olympus hie, And make a hill to o'er top old Pellon: What's he that conjures so? Behold 'tis I, Hamlet the Dane. The devil take thy soul. O thou prayest not well, I prithee take thy hand from off my throat, For there is something in me dangerous, Which let thy wisdom fear, hold off thy hand▪ I loved Ofelia as dear as twenty brothers could: Show me what thou wilt do for her: Wilt fight, wilt fast, wilt pray, Wilt drink up vessels, eat a crocodile? I'll do't: Comest thou here to whine? And where thou talk'st of burying thee a live, Here let us stand: and let them throw on us, Whole hills of earth, till with the height thereof, Make Oosell as a Wart. Forbear Leartes, now is he mad, as is the sea, Anon as mild and gentle as a Dove: Therefore a while give his wild humour scope. What is the reason sir that you wrong me thus? I never gave you cause: but stand away, A Cat will meaw, a Dog will have a day.
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)
Why there they say the men are as mad as he. Whose scull was this? This, a plague on him, a madde rogues it was, He powred once a whole flagon of Rhenish of my head, Why do not you know him? this was one Yorickes scull. Was this? I prethee let me see it, alas poore Yoricke I knew him Horatio, A fellow of infinite mirth, he hath caried mee twenty times vpon his backe, here hung those lippes that I haue Kissed a hundred times, and to see, now they abhorre me: Wheres your iests now Yoricke? your flashes of meriment: now go to my Ladies chamber, and bid her paint her selfe an inch thicke, to this she must come Yoricke. Horatio, I prethee tell me one thing, doost thou thinke that, Alexander looked thus? Euen so my Lord. And smelt thus? I my lord, no otherwise. No, why might not imagination worke, as thus of Alexander, Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander became earth, of earth we make clay, and Alexander being but clay, why might not time bring to passe, that he might stoppe the boung hole of a beere barrell? Imperious Caesar dead and turnd to clay, Might stoppe a hole, to keepe the winde away. What funerall's this that all the Court laments? It shews to be some noble parentage: Stand by a while. What ceremony else? say, what ceremony else? My Lord, we haue done all that lies in vs, And more than well the church can tolerate, She hath had a Dirge sung for her maiden soule: And but for fauour of the king, and you, She had beene buried in the open fieldes, Where now she is allowed christian buriall. So, I tell thee churlish Priest, a ministring Angell shall my sister be, when thou liest howling. The faire Ofelia dead! Sweetes to the sweete, farewell: I had thought to adorne thy bridale bed, faire maide, And not to follow thee vnto thy graue. Forbeare the earth a while: sister farewell: Now powre your earth on, Olympus hie, And make a hill to o're top olde Pellon: Whats he that coniures so? Beholde tis I, Hamlet the Dane. The diuell take thy soule. O thou praiest not well, I prethee take thy hand from off my throate, For there is something in me dangerous, Which let thy wisedome feare, holde off thy hand▪ I lou'de Ofelia as deere as twenty brothers could: Shew me what thou wilt doe for her: Wilt fight, wilt fast, wilt pray, Wilt drinke vp vessels, eate a crocadile? Ile doot: Com'st thou here to whine? And where thou talk'st of burying thee a liue, Here let vs stand: and let them throw on vs, Whole hills of earth, till with the heighth therof, Make Oosell as a Wart. Forbeare Leartes, now is hee mad, as is the sea, Anone as milde and gentle as a Doue: Therfore a while giue his wilde humour scope. What is the reason sir that you wrong mee thus? I neuer gaue you cause: but stand away, A Cat will meaw, a Dog will haue a day.