Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1605 [1605-1606] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.78 · 516 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Gone Sir, farewell: And yet I know not how conceit may rob The Treasury of life, when life itself Yields to the Theft. Had he been where he thought, By this had thought been past. Alive, or dead? Hoa, you Sir: Friend, hear you Sir, speak: Thus might he pass indeed: yet he revives. What are you Sir? Away, and let me dye. Hadst thou been aught But Gozemore, Feathers, Air, (So many fathom down precipitating) thou'dst shivered like an Egg: but thou dost breath: Hast heavy substance, bleedest not, speakest, art sound, Ten Masts at each, make not the altitude Which thou hast perpendicularly fell, Thy life's a Miracle. Speak yet again. But have I fall'n, or no? From the dread Somnet of this Chalky Bourne Look up a height, the shrill-gorged Lark so far Cannot be seen, or heard: Do but look up. Alack, I have no eyes: Is wretchedness deprived that benefit To end itself by death? 'Twas yet some comfort, When misery could beguile the Tyrant's rage, And frustrate his proud will. Give me your arm. up, so: How is't? Feel you your Legs? You stand. Too well, too well. This is above all strangeness, Upon the crown o' th' Cliff. What thing was that Which parted from you? A poor unfortunate Beggar. As I stood here below, me thought his eyes Were two full Moons: he had a thousand Noses, Horns wealked, and waved like the enraged Sea: It was some Fiend: Therefore thou happy Father, Think that the clearest Gods, who make them Honours Of men's Impossibilities, have preserved thee. I do remember now: henceforth I'll bear Affliction, till it do cry out itself Enough, enough, and dye. That thing you speak of, I took it for a man: often 'twould say The Fiend, the Fiend, he led me to that place. Bear free and patiented thoughts. But who comes here? The safer sense will ne'er accommodate His Master thus. No, they cannot touch me for crying. I am the King himself. O thou side-piercing sight! Nature's above Art, in that respect. there's your Press-money. That fellow handles his bow, like a Crow-keeper: draw me a Cloathiers' yard. Look, look, a Mouse: peace, peace, this piece of toasted Cheese will do't. There's my Gauntlet, I'll prove it on a Giant. Bring up the brown Bills. O well flown Bird: i' th' clout, i' th' clout: Hewgh. Give the word. Sweet Mariorum. Pass. I know that voice. Ha! Gonerill with a white beard? They flattered me like a Dog, and told me I had the white hairs in my Beard, ere the black ones were there. To say I, and no, to every thing that I said: I, and no too, was no good Divinity. When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter: when the Thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found 'em, there I smelled 'em out. Go too, they are not men o' their words; they told me, I was every thing: 'Tis a Lie, I am not Agu-proofe.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 2000–2054 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 36 of 46 in this edition
Length
516 words · 748 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.783 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Gone Sir, farewell: And yet I know not how conceit may rob The Treaſury of life, when life it ſelfe Yeelds to the Theft. Had he bin where he thought, By this had thought bin paſt. Aliue, or dead? Hoa, you Sir: Friend, heare you Sir, ſpeake: Thus might he paſſe indeed: yet he reuiues. What are you Sir? Away, and let me dye. Had'ſt thou beene ought But Gozemore, Feathers, Ayre, (So many fathome downe precipitating) Thou'dſt ſhiuer'd like an Egge: but thou do'ſt breath: Haſt heauy ſubſtance, bleed'ſt not, ſpeak'ſt, art ſound, Ten Maſts at each, make not the altitude Which thou haſt perpendicularly fell, Thy life's a Myracle. Speake yet againe. But haue I falne, or no? From the dread Somnet of this Chalkie Bourne Looke vp a height, the ſhrill-gorg'd Larke ſo farre Cannot be ſeene, or heard: Do but looke vp. Alacke, I haue no eyes: Is wretchedneſſe depriu'd that benefit To end it ſelfe by death? 'Twas yet ſome comfort, When miſery could beguile the Tyrants rage, And fruſtrate his proud will. Giue me your arme. Vp, ſo: How is't? Feele you your Legges? You ſtand. Too well, too well. This is aboue all ſtrangeneſſe, Vpon the crowne o' th' Cliffe. What thing was that Which parted from you? A poore vnfortunate Beggar. As I ſtood heere below, me thought his eyes Were two full Moones: he had a thouſand Noſes, Hornes wealk'd, and waued like the enraged Sea: It was ſome Fiend: Therefore thou happy Father, Thinke that the cleereſt Gods, who make them Honors Of mens Impoſſibilities, haue preſerued thee. I do remember now: henceforth Ile beare Affliction, till it do cry out it ſelfe Enough, enough, and dye. That thing you ſpeake of, I tooke it for a man: often 'twould ſay The Fiend, the Fiend, he led me to that place. Beare free and patient thoughts. But who comes heere? The ſafer ſenſe will ne're accommodate His Maſter thus. No, they cannot touch me for crying. I am the King himſelfe. O thou ſide-piercing ſight! Nature's aboue Art, in that reſpect. Ther's your Preſſe-money. That fellow handles his bow, like a Crow-keeper: draw mee a Cloathiers yard. Looke, looke, a Mouſe: peace, peace, this peece of toaſted Cheeſe will doo't. There's my Gauntlet, Ile proue it on a Gyant. Bring vp the browne Billes. O well flowne Bird: i' th' clout, i' th' clout: Hewgh. Giue the word. Sweet Mariorum. Paſſe. I know that voice. Ha! Gonerill with a white beard? They flatter'd me like a Dogge, and told mee I had the white hayres in my Beard, ere the blacke ones were there. To ſay I, and no, to euery thing that I ſaid: I, and no too, was no good Diuinity. When the raine came to wet me once, and the winde to make me chatter: when the Thunder would not peace at my bidding, there I found 'em, there I ſmelt 'em out. Go too, they are not men o' their words; they told me, I was euery thing: 'Tis a Lye, I am not Agu-proofe.