Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1605 [1605-1606] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T11 Siblings, kin and confidants typicality 0.84 · 511 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T11: sister, brother, love, friend, heart, father, mother, woman, lord, hear.
I know't, my Sisters: this approves her Letter, That she would soon be here. Is your Lady come? This is a Slave, whose easy borrowed pride Dwells in the sickly grace of her he follows. Out Varlet, from my sight. What means your Grace? Who stocked my Servant? Regan, I have good hope Thou didst not know on't. Who comes here? O Heavens! If you do love old men; if your sweet sway Allow Obedience; if you yourselves are old, Make it your cause: Send down, and take my part. Art not ashamed to look upon this Beard? O Regan, will you take her by the hand? Why not by ' th' hand Sir? How have I offended? All's not offence that indiscretion finds, And dotage terms so. O sides, you are too tough! Will you yet hold? How came my man i' th' Stocks? I set him there, Sir: but his own Disorders Deserved much less advancement. You? Did you? I pray you Father being weak, seem so. If till the expiration of your Month You will return and sojourn with my Sister, Dismissing halfe your train, come then to me, I am now from home, and out of that provision Which shall be needful for your entertainment. Return to her? and fifty men dismissed? No, rather I abjure all roofs, and choose To wage against the enmity o'th' air, To be a Comrade with the Wolf, and Owl, Necessity's sharp pinch. Return with her? Why the hot-bloodied France, that dowerless took Our youngest borne, I could as well be brought To knee his Throne, and Squire-like pension beg, To keep base life a foot; return with her? Persuade me rather to be slave and sumpter To this detested groom. At your choice Sir. I prithee Daughter do not make me mad, I will not trouble thee my Child: farewell: we'll no more meet, no more see one another. But yet thou art my flesh, my blood, my Daughter, Or rather a disease that's in my flesh, Which I must needs call mine. Thou art a Boil, A plague sore, or embossed Carbuncle In my corrupted blood. But I'll not chide thee, Let shame come when it will, I do not call it, I do not bid the Thunder-bearer shore, Nor tell tales of thee to high-iudging Ioue, Mend when thou canst, be better at thy leisure, I can be patiented, I can stay with Regan, I and my hundred Knights. Not altogether so, I looked not for you yet, nor am provided For your fit welcome, give ear Sir to my Sister, For those that mingle reason with your passion, Must be content to think you old, and so, But she knows what she does. Is this well spoken? I dare avouch it Sir, what fifty Followers? Is it not well? What should you need of more? Yea, or so many? Sith that both charge and danger, Speak 'gainst so great a number? How in one house Should many people, under two commands Hold amity? 'Tis hard, almost impossible.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 1154–1221 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 22 of 46 in this edition
Length
511 words · 688 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T11 — Siblings, kin and confidantscross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.844 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T15 · seed 44: T12 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I know't, my Siſters: this approues her Letter, That ſhe would ſoone be heere. Is your Lady come? This is a Slaue, whoſe eaſie borrowed pride Dwels in the fickly grace of her he followes. Out Varlet, from my ſight. What meanes your Grace? Who ſtockt my Seruant? Regan, I haue good hope Thou did'ſt not know on't. Who comes here? O Heauens! If you do loue old men; if your ſweet ſway Allow Obedience; if you your ſelues are old, Make it your cauſe: Send downe, and take my part. Art not aſham'd to looke vpon this Beard? O Regan, will you take her by the hand? Why not by' th' hand Sir? How haue I offended? All's not offence that indiſcretion findes, And dotage termes ſo. O ſides, you are too tough! Will you yet hold? How came my man i' th' Stockes? I ſet him there, Sir: but his owne Diſorders Deſeru'd much leſſe aduancement. You? Did you? I pray you Father being weake, ſeeme ſo. If till the expiration of your Moneth You will returne and ſoiourne with my Siſter, Diſmiſſing halfe your traine, come then to me, I am now from home, and out of that prouiſion Which ſhall be needfull for your entertainement. Returne to her? and fifty men diſmiſs'd? No, rather I abiure all roofes, and chuſe To wage againſt the enmity oth' ayre, To be a Comrade with the Wolfe, and Owle, Neceſſities ſharpe pinch. Returne with her? Why the hot-bloodied France, that dowerleſſe tooke Our yongeſt borne, I could as well be brought To knee his Throne, and Squire-like penſion beg, To keepe baſe life a foote; returne with her? Perſwade me rather to be ſlaue and ſumpter To this deteſted groome. At your choice Sir. I prythee Daughter do not make me mad, I will not trouble thee my Child: farewell: Wee'l no more meete, no more ſee one another. But yet thou art my fleſh, my blood, my Daughter, Or rather a diſeaſe that's in my fleſh, Which I muſt needs call mine. Thou art a Byle, A plague ſore, or imboſſed Carbuncle In my corrupted blood. But Ile not chide thee, Let ſhame come when it will, I do not call it, I do not bid the Thunder-bearer ſhoore, Nor tell tales of thee to high-iudging Ioue, Mend when thou can'ſt, be better at thy leiſure, I can be patient, I can ſtay with Regan, I and my hundred Knights. Not altogether ſo, I look'd not for you yet, nor am prouided For your fit welcome, giue eare Sir to my Siſter, For thoſe that mingle reaſon with your paſſion, Muſt be content to thinke you old, and ſo, But ſhe knowes what ſhe doe's. Is this well ſpoken? I dare auouch it Sir, what fifty Followers? Is it not well? What ſhould you need of more? Yea, or ſo many? Sith that both charge and danger, Speake 'gainſt ſo great a number? How in one houſe Should many people, vnder two commands Hold amity? 'Tis hard, almoſt impoſſible.