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 · 464 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
They bore him bore faced on the Beer, hay non nonny, nonny, hay nonny: And on his grave rains many a tear, Far you well my Dove. Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade Revenge, it could not move thus. You must sing down adown, and you call him a-downe-a. Oh, how the wheel becomes it? It is the false Steward that stole his master's daughter. This nothings more than matter. There's Rosemary, that's for Remembrance. Pray love remember: and there is Paconcies, that's for Thoughts. A document in madness, thoughts & remembrance fitted. There's Fennel for you, and Columbines: there's Rew for you, and here's some for me. We may call it Herbe-Grace a Sundays: Oh you must wear your Rew with a difference. There's a daisy, I would give you some Violets, but they withered all when my Father died: They say, he made a good end; Thought, and Affliction, Passion, Hell itself: She turns to Favour, and to prettiness. And will he not come again, And will he not come again: No, no, he is dead, go to thy Deathbed, He never will come again. His Beard as white as Snow, All Flaxen was his Pole: He is gone, he is gone, and we cast away moan, Gramercy on his Soul. And of all Christian Souls, I pray God. God buy ye. Do you see this, you Gods? Laertes, I must common with your grief, Or you deny me right: go but apart, Make choice of whom your wisest Friends you will, And they shall hear and judge 'twixt you and me; If by direct or by Colaterall hand They find us touched, we will our Kingdom give, Our Crown, our Life, and all that we call Ours To you in satisfaction. But if not, Be you content to lend your patience to us, And we shall jointly labour with your soul To give it due content. Let this be so: His means of death, his obscure burial; No Trophy, Sword, nor Hatchment o'er his bones, No Noble rite, nor formal ostentation, Cry to be heard, as 'twere from Heaven to Earth, That I must call in question. So you shall: And where th' offence is, let the great Axe fall. I pray you go with me. What are they that would speak with me? Sailor's sir, they say they have Letters for you. Let them come in, I do not know from what part of the world I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet. God bless you Sir. Let him bless thee too. He shall Sir, and't please him. There's a Letter for you Sir: It comes from th' Ambassadors that was bound for England, if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.
nodes 2443–2494 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 42 of 55 in this edition
Length
464 words · 637 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.733 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: T10 · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
They bore him bare fac'd on the Beer, Hey non nony, nony, hey nony: And on his graue raines many a teare, Fare you well my Doue. Had'ſt thou thy wits, and did'ſt perſwade Reuenge, it could not moue thus. You muſt ſing downe a-downe, and you call him a-downe-a. Oh, how the wheele becomes it? It is the falſe Steward that ſtole his maſters daughter. This nothings more then matter. There's Roſemary, that's for Remembraunce. Pray loue remember: and there is Paconcies, that's for Thoughts. A document in madneſſe, thoughts & remembrance fitted. There's Fennell for you, and Columbines: ther's Rew for you, and heere's ſome for me. Wee may call it Herbe-Grace a Sundaies: Oh you muſt weare your Rew with a difference. There's a Dayſie, I would giue you ſome Violets, but they wither'd all when my Father dyed: They ſay, he made a good end; Thought, and Affliction, Paſſion, Hell it ſelfe: She turnes to Fauour, and to prettineſſe. And will he not come againe, And will he not come againe: No, no, he is dead, go to thy Death-bed, He neuer wil come againe. His Beard as white as Snow, All Flaxen was his Pole: He is gone, he is gone, and we caſt away mone, Gramercy on his Soule. And of all Chriſtian Soules, I pray God. God buy ye. Do you ſee this, you Gods? Laertes, I muſt common with your greefe, Or you deny me right: go but apart, Make choice of whom your wiſeſt Friends you will, And they ſhall heare and iudge 'twixt you and me; If by direct or by Colaterall hand They finde vs touch'd, we will our Kingdome giue, Our Crowne, our Life, and all that we call Ours To you in ſatisfaction. But if not, Be you content to lend your patience to vs, And we ſhall ioyntly labour with your ſoule To giue it due content. Let this be ſo: His meanes of death, his obſcure buriall; No Trophee, Sword, nor Hatchment o're his bones, No Noble rite, nor formall oſtentation, Cry to be heard, as 'twere from Heauen to Earth, That I muſt call in queſtion. So you ſhall: And where th' offence is, let the great Axe fall. I pray you go with me. What are they that would ſpeake with me? Saylors ſir, they ſay they haue Letters for you. Let them come in, I do not know from what part of the world I ſhould be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet. God bleſſe you Sir. Let him bleſſe thee too. Hee ſhall Sir, and't pleaſe him. There's a Letter for you Sir: It comes from th' Ambaſſadours that was bound for England, if your name be Horatio, as I am let to know it is.