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 0.76 · 474 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Come on sir. Come on sir. One. No. judgement. A hit, a very palpable hit. Well: again. Stay, give me drink. Hamlet, this Pearl is thine, Here's to thy health. Give him the cup, I'll play this bout first, set by awhile. Come: Another hit; what say you? A touch, a touch, I do confess. Our Son shall win. He's fat, and scant of breath. here's a Napkin, rub thy brows, The Queen Carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. Good Madam. Gertrude, do not drink. I will my Lord; I pray you pardon me. It is the poisoned Cup, it is too late. I dare not drink yet Madam, By and by. Come, let me wipe thy face. My Lord, I'll hit him now. I do not think't. And yet 'tis almost 'gainst my conscience. Come for the third. Laertes, you but daily, I pray you pass with your best violence, I am affear'd you make a wanton of me. Say you so? Come on. Nothing neither way. Have at you now. Part them, they are incensed. Nay come, again. Look to the Queen there hoa. They bleed on both sides. How is't my Lord? How is't Laertes? Why as a Woodcock To mine Springe, Osric, I am justly killed with mine own Treachery. How does the Queen? She sounds to see them bleed. No, no, the drink, the drink. Oh my dear Hamlet, the drink, the drink, I am poisoned. Oh Villainy! How? Let the door be locked. Treachery, seek it out. It is here Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain, No Medicine in the world can do thee good. In thee, there is not half an hour of life; The Treacherous Instrument is in thy hand. Unbated and envenomed: the foul practice Hath turned itself on me. Lo, here I lie, Never to rise again: Thy Mother's poisoned: I can no more, the King, the King's too blame. The point envenomed too, Then venom to thy work. Treason, Treason. O yet defend me Friends, I am but hurt. here thou incestuous, murderous, Damned Dane, Drink off this Potion: Is thy Union here? Fellow my Mother. He is iustly served. It is a poison tempered by himself: Exchange forgiveness with me, Noble Hamlet; Mine and my Father's death come not upon thee, Nor thine on me. Heaven make thee free of it, I follow thee. I am dead Horatio, wretched Queen adieu, You that look pale, and tremble at this chance, That are but Mutes or audience to this act: Had I but time (as this fell Sergeant death Is stricked in his Arrest) oh I could tell you. But let it be: Horatio, I am dead, Thou liv'st, report me and my causes right. To the unsatisfied. Never believe it. I am more an Antic Roman then a Dane: here's yet some Liquor left.
nodes 3053–3136 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 54 of 55 in this edition
Length
474 words · 684 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.756 (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)
Come on ſir. Come on ſir. One. No. Iudgement. A hit, a very palpable hit. Well: againe. Stay, giue me drinke. Hamlet, this Pearle is thine, Here's to thy health. Giue him the cup, Ile play this bout firſt, ſet by a-while. Come: Another hit; what ſay you? A touch, a touch, I do confeſſe. Our Sonne ſhall win. He's fat, and ſcant of breath. Heere's a Napkin, rub thy browes, The Queene Carowſes to thy fortune, Hamlet. Good Madam. Gertrude, do not drinke. I will my Lord; I pray you pardon me. It is the poyſon'd Cup, it is too late. I dare not drinke yet Madam, By and by. Come, let me wipe thy face. My Lord, Ile hit him now. I do not thinke't. And yet 'tis almoſt 'gainſt my conſcience. Come for the third. Laertes, you but daily, I pray you paſſe with your beſt violence, I am affear'd you make a wanton of me. Say you ſo? Come on. Nothing neither way. Haue at you now. Part them, they are incens'd. Nay come, againe. Looke to the Queene there hoa. They bleed on both ſides. How is't my Lord? How is't Laertes? Why as a Woodcocke To mine Sprindge, Oſricke, I am iuſtly kill'd with mine owne Treacherie. How does the Queene? She ſounds to ſee them bleede. No, no, the drinke, the drinke. Oh my deere Hamlet, the drinke, the drinke, I am poyſon'd. Oh Villany! How? Let the doore be lock'd. Treacherie, ſeeke it out. It is heere Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art ſlaine, No Medicine in the world can do thee good. In thee, there is not halfe an houre of life; The Treacherous Inſtrument is in thy hand. Vnbated and envenom'd: the foule practiſe Hath turn'd it ſelfe on me. Loe, heere I lye, Neuer to riſe againe: Thy Mothers poyſon'd: I can no more, the King, the King's too blame. The point envenom'd too, Then venome to thy worke. Treaſon, Treaſon. O yet defend me Friends, I am but hurt. Heere thou inceſtuous, murdrous, Damned Dane, Drinke off this Potion: Is thy Vnion heere? Follow my Mother. He is uſtly ſeru'd. It is a poyſon temp'red by himſelfe: Exchange forgiueneſſe with me, Noble Hamlet; Mine and my Fathers death come not vpon thee, Nor thine on me. Heauen make thee free of it, I follow thee. I am dead Horatio, wretched Queene adiew, You that looke pale, and tremble at this chance, That are but Mutes or audience to this acte: Had I but time (as this fell Sergeant death Is ſtrick'd in his Arreſt) oh I could tell you. But let it be: Horatio, I am dead, Thou liu'ſt, report me and my cauſes right. To the vnſatisfied. Neuer beleeue it. I am more an Antike Roman then a Dane: Heere's yet ſome Liquor left.