Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1601 [1600-1601] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.73 · 461 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
It beckons you to go away with it, As if it some impartment did desire To you alone. Look with what courteous action It wafts you to a more removed ground: But do not go with it. No, by no means. It will not speak: then will I follow it. Do not my Lord. Why, what should be the fear? I do not set my life at a pin's fee; And for my Soul, what can it do to that? Being a thing immortal as itself: It waves me forth again; I'll follow it. What if it tempt you toward the Flood my Lord? Or to the dreadful Sonnet of the Cliff, That beetles o'er his base into the Sea, And there assumes some other horrible form, Which might deprive your Sovereignty of Reason, And draw you into madness think of it? It wafts me still: go on, I'll follow thee. You shall not go my Lord. Hold off your band. Be ruled, you shall not go. My fate cries out, And makes each petty Artery in this body, As hardy as the Nemian Lion's nerve: Still am I called? Unhand me Gentlemen: By Heaven, I'll make a Ghost of him that lets me: I say away, go on, I'll follow thee. He waxes desperate with imagination. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. Have after, to what issue will this come? Something is rotten in the State of Denmark. Heaven will direct it. Nay, let's follow him. Where wilt thou lead me? speak; I'll go no further. Mark me. I will. My hour is almost come, When I to sulphurous and tormenting Flames Must render up myself. Alas poor Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing To what I shall unfold. Speak, I am bound to hear. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. What? I am thy Father's Spirit, Doomed for a certain term to walk the night; And for the day confined to fast in Fires, Till the foul crimes done in my days of Nature Are burnt and purged away? But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my Prisonhouse; I could 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 knotty and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand an end, Like Quills upon the fretful Porpentine: But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood; lift Hamlet, oh lift, If thou didst ever thy dear Father love. Oh Heaven! Revenge his foul and most unnatural Murder. Murder? Murder most foul, as in the best it is; But this most foul strange, and unnatural.
nodes 619–686 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 10 of 55 in this edition
Length
461 words · 597 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.728 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
It beckons you to goe away with it, As if it ſome impartment did deſire To you alone. Looke with what courteous action It wafts you to a more remoued ground: But doe not goe with it. No, by no meanes. It will not ſpeake: then will I follow it. Doe not my Lord. Why, what ſhould be the feare? I doe not ſet my life at a pins fee; And for my Soule, what can it doe to that? Being a thing immortall as it ſelfe: It waues me forth againe; Ile follow it. What if it tempt you toward the Floud my Lord? Or to the dreadfull Sonnet of the Cliffe, That beetles o're his baſe into the Sea, And there aſſumes ſome other horrible forme, Which might depriue your Soueraignty of Reaſon, And draw you into madneſſe thinke of it? It wafts me ſtill: goe on, Ile follow thee. You ſhall not goe my Lord. Hold off your band. Be rul'd, you ſhall not goe. My fate cries out, And makes each petty Artire in this body, As hardy as the Nemian Lions nerue: Still am I cal'd? Vnhand me Gentlemen: By Heau'n, Ile make a Ghoſt of him that lets me: I ſay away, goe on, Ile follow thee. He waxes deſperate with imagination. Let's follow; 'tis not fit thus to obey him. Haue after, to what iſſue will this come? Something is rotten in the State of Denmarke. Heauen will direct it. Nay, let's follow him. Where wilt thou lead me? ſpeak; Ile go no further. Marke me. I will. My hower is almoſt come, When I to ſulphurous and tormenting Flames Muſt render vp my ſelfe. Alas poore Ghoſt. Pitty me not, but lend thy ſerious hearing To what I ſhall vnfold. Speake, I am bound to heare. So art thou to reuenge, when thou ſhalt heare. What? I am thy Fathers Spirit, Doom'd for a certaine terme to walke the night; And for the day confin'd to faſt in Fiers, Till the foule crimes done in my dayes of Nature Are burnt and purg'd away? But that I am forbid To tell the ſecrets of my Priſon-Houſe; I could a Tale vnfold, whoſe lighteſt word Would harrow vp thy ſoule; freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes like Starres, ſtart from their Spheres, Thy knotty and combined locks to part, And each particular haire to ſtand an end, Like Quilles vpon the fretfull Porpentine: But this eternall blaſon muſt not be To eares of fleſh and bloud; lift Hamlet, oh lift, If thou didſt euer thy deare Father loue. Oh Heauen! Reuenge his foule and moſt vnnaturall Murther. Murther? Murther moſt foule, as in the beſt it is; But this moſt foule ſtrange, and vnnaturall.