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 0.78 · 523 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Now might I do it pat, now he is praying, And now I'll do't, and so he goes to Heaven, And so am I revenged: that would be scanned, A Villain kills my Father, and for that I his foul Son, do this same Villain send To heaven. Oh this is hire and Salary, not Revenge. He took my Father grossly, full of bread, With all his Crimes broad blown, as fresh as May, And how his Audit stands, who knows, save Heaven: But in our circumstance and course of thought 'Tis heavy with him: and am I then revenged, To take him in the purging of his Soul, When he is fit and seasoned for his passage? No. Up Sword, and know thou a more horrid hent When he is drunk asleep: or in his Rage, Or in th' incestuous pleasure of his bed, At gaming, swearing, or about some act That has no relish of Salvation in't, Then trip him, that his heels may kick at Heaven, And that his Soul may be as damned and black As Hell, whereto it goes. My Mother stays, This Physic but prolongs thy sickly days. My words fly up, my thoughts remain below, Words without thoughts, never to Heaven go. He will come strait: Look you lay home to him, Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with, And that your Grace hath scree'nd, and stood between Much heat, and him. I'll silence me e'en here: Pray you be round with him. Mother, mother, mother. I'll warrant you, fear me not. Withdraw, I hear him coming. Now Mother, what's the matter? Hamlet, thou hast thy Father much offended. Mother, you have my Father much offended. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. Go, go, you question with an idle tongue. Why how now Hamlet? What's the matter now? Have you forgot me? No by the Rood, not so: You are the Queen, your Husband's Brothers wife, But would you were not so. You are my Mother. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak. Come, come, and sit you down, you shall not budge: You go not till I set you up a glass, Where you may see the inmost part of you? What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me? Help, help, hoa. What hoa, help, help, help. How now, a Rat? dead for a Ducat, dead. Oh I am slain. Oh me, what hast thou done? Nay I know not, is it the King? Oh what a rash, and bloody deed is this? A bloody deed, almost as bad good Mother, As kill a King, and marry with his Brother. As kill a King? I Lady, 'twas my word. Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool farewell, I took thee for thy Betters, take thy Fortune, Thou findest to be too busy, is some danger. Lean wring of your hands, peace, sit you down, And let me wring your heart, for so I shall If it be made of penetrable stuff; If damned Custom have no brazed it so, That it is proof and bulwark against Sense.
nodes 1927–1994 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 34 of 55 in this edition
Length
523 words · 705 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.785 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T7 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Now might I do it pat, now he is praying, And now Ile doo't, and ſo he goes to Heauen, And ſo am I reueng'd: that would be ſcann'd, A Villaine killes my Father, and for that I his foule Sonne, do this ſame Villaine ſend To heauen. Oh this is hyre and Sallery, not Reuenge. He tooke my Father groſſely, full of bread, With all his Crimes broad blowne, as freſh as May, And how his Audit ſtands, who knowes, ſaue Heauen: But in our circumſtance and courſe of thought 'Tis heauie with him: and am I then reueng'd, To take him in the purging of his Soule, When he is fit and ſeaſon'd for his paſſage? No. Vp Sword, and know thou a more horrid hent When he is drunke aſleepe: or in his Rage, Or in th' inceſtuous pleaſure of his bed, At gaming, ſwearing, or about ſome acte That ha's no relliſh of Saluation in't, Then trip him, that his heeles may kicke at Heauen, And that his Soule may be as damn'd and blacke As Hell, whereto it goes. My Mother ſtayes, This Phyſicke but prolongs thy ſickly dayes. My words flye vp, my thoughts remain below, Words without thoughts, neuer to Heauen go. He will come ſtraight: Looke you lay home to him, Tell him his prankes haue been too broad to beare with, And that your Grace hath ſcree'nd, and ſtoode betweene Much heate, and him. Ile ſilence me e'ene heere: Pray you be round with him. Mother, mother, mother. Ile warrant you, feare me not. Withdraw, I heare him comming. Now Mother, what's the matter? Hamlet, thou haſt thy Father much offended. Mother, you haue my Father much offended. Come, come, you anſwer with an idle tongue. Go, go, you queſtion with an idle tongue. Why how now Hamlet? Whats the matter now? Haue you forgot me? No by the Rood, not ſo: You are the Queene, your Husbands Brothers wife, But would you were not ſo. You are my Mother. Nay, then Ile ſet thoſe to you that can ſpeake. Come, come, and ſit you downe, you ſhall not boudge: You go not till I ſet you vp a glaſſe, Where you may ſee the inmoſt part of you? What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murther me? Helpe, helpe, hoa. What hoa, helpe, helpe, helpe. How now, a Rat? dead for a Ducate, dead. Oh I am ſlaine. Oh me, what haſt thou done? Nay I know not, is it the King? Oh what a raſh, and bloody deed is this? A bloody deed, almoſt as bad good Mother, As kill a King, and marrie with his Brother. As kill a King? I Lady, 'twas my word. Thou wretched, raſh, intruding foole farewell, I tooke thee for thy Betters, take thy Fortune, Thou find'ſt to be too buſie, is ſome danger. Leane wringing of your hands, peace, ſit you downe, And let me wring your heart, for ſo I ſhall If it be made of penetrable ſtuffe; If damned Cuſtome haue no braz'd it ſo, That it is proofe and bulwarke againſt Senſe.