Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1601 [1600-1601] (Annals) tragedy · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T41 Household service: masters, doors and po · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T41: master, house, door, iohn, old, mistress, basket, lord, gentleman, ick.
What man dost thou dig it for? For no man Sir. What woman then? For none neither. Who is to be buried in't? One that was a woman Sir; but rest her Soul, she's dead. How absolute the knave is? we must speak by the Card, or equivocation will undo us: by the Lord Horatio, these three years I have taken note of it, the Age is grown so picked, that the toe of the Peasant comes so near the heels of our Courtier, he galls his Kibe. How long hast thou been a Grave-maker? Of all the days i' th' year, I came too't that day that our last King Hamlet o'er came Fortinbras. How long is that since? Cannot you tell that? every fool can tell that: It was the very day, that young Hamlet was borne, he that was mad, and sent into England. I marry, why was he sent into England? Why, because he was mad; he shall recover his wits there; or if he do not, it's no great matter there. Why? 'Twill not be seen in him, there the men are as mad as he. How came he mad? Very strangely they say. How strangely? Faith e'en with losing his wits. Upon what ground? Why here in Denmark: I have been sixteen here, man and Boy thirty years. How long will a man lie ' i th' earth ere he rot? I faith, if he be not rotten before he die (as we have many pocky Courses now adays, that will scarce hold the laying in) he will last you some eight year, or nine year. A Tanner will last you nine year. Why he, more than another? Why sir, his hide is so tanned with his Trade, that he will keep out water a great while. And your water, is a sore Decayer of your whoreson dead body. Here's a Scull now: this Skull, has lain in the earth three & twenty years. Whose was it? A whoreson mad Fellows it was; Whose do you think it was? Nay, I know not. A pestilence on him for a mad Rogue, a poured a Flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same Scull Sir, this same Scull sir, was Yoricks Scull, the King's jester. This? E'en that. Let me see. Alas poor Yorick, I knew him Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest; of most excellent fancy, he hath borne me on his back a thousand times: And how abhorred my Imagination is, my gorge rises at it. here hung those lips, that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your libes now? Your Gambols? Your Songs? Your flashes of Merriment that were wont to set the Table on a Roar? No one now to mock your own jeering? Quite chopfalne? Now get you to my Lady's Chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come. Make her laugh at that: prithee Horatio tell me one thing.
seed 43: T27 · seed 44: T21 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
What man doſt thou digge it for? For no man Sir. What woman then? For none neither. Who is to be buried in't? One that was a woman Sir; but reſt her Soule, ſhee's dead. How abſolute the knaue is? wee muſt ſpeake by the Carde, or equiuocation will vndoe vs: by the Lord Horatio, theſe three yeares I haue taken note of it, the Age is growne ſo picked, that the toe of the Peſant comes ſo neere the heeles of our Courtier, hee galls his Kibe. How long haſt thou been a Graue-maker? Of all the dayes i' th' yeare, I came too't that day that our laſt King Hamlet o're came Fortinbras. How long is that ſince? Cannot you tell that? euery foole can tell that: It was the very day, that young Hamlet was borne, hee that was mad, and ſent into England. I marry, why was he ſent into England? Why, becauſe he was mad; hee ſhall recouer his wits there; or if he do not, it's no great matter there. Why? 'Twill not be ſeene in him, there the men are as mad as he. How came he mad? Very ſtrangely they ſay. How ſtrangely? Faith e'ene with looſing his wits. Vpon what ground? Why heere in Denmarke: I haue bin ſixeteene heere, man and Boy thirty yeares. How long will a man lie 'i th' earth ere he rot? I faith, if he be not rotten before he die (as we haue many pocky Coarſes now adaies, that will ſcarce hold the laying in) he will laſt you ſome eight yeare, or nine yeare. A Tanner will laſt you nine yeare. Why he, more then another? Why ſir, his hide is ſo tan'd with his Trade, that he will keepe out water a great while. And your water, is a ſore Decayer of your horſon dead body. Heres a Scull now: this Scul, has laine in the earth three & twenty years. Whoſe was it? A whoreſon mad Fellowes it was; Whoſe doe you thinke it was? Nay, I know not. A peſtlence on him for a mad Rogue, a pou'rd a Flaggon of Reniſh on my head once. This ſame Scull Sir, this ſame Scull ſir, was Yoricks Scull, the Kings Ieſter. This? E'ene that. Let me ſee. Alas poore Yorick, I knew him Horatio, a fellow of infinite Ieſt; of moſt excellent fancy, he hath borne me on his backe a thouſand times: And how abhorred my Imagination is, my gorge riſes at it. Heere hung thoſe lipps, that I haue kiſt I know not how oft. VVhere be your libes now? Your Gambals? Your Songs? Your flaſhes of Merriment that were wont to ſet the Table on a Rore? No one now to mock your own Ieering? Quite chopfalne? Now get you to my Ladies Chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thicke, to this fauour ſhe muſt come. Make her laugh at that: prythee Horatio tell me one thing.