Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1605 [1605-1606] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.83 · 532 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.
Fall and cease. This feather stirs, she lives: if it be so, It is a chance which does redeem all sorrows That ever I have felt. O my good Master. Prithee away. 'Tis Noble Kent your Friend. A plague upon you Murderors, Traitors all, I might have saved her, now she's gone for ever: Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little. Ha': What is't thou sayst? Her voice was ever soft, Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman. I killed the Slave that was a hanging thee. 'Tis true (my Lords) he did. Did I not fellow? I have seen the day, with my good biting Falchion I would have made him skip: I am old now, And these same crosses spoil me. Who are you? Mine eyes are not o' th' best, I'll tell you strait. If Fortune brag of two, she loved and hated, One of them we behold. This is a dull sight, are you not Kent? The same: your Servant Kent, Where is your Servant Caius? He's a good fellow, I can tell you that, He'll strike and quickly too, he's dead and rotten. No my good Lord, I am the very man. I'll see that strait. That from your first of difference and decay, Have followed your sad steps. Your are welcome hither. Nor no man else: All's cheerless, dark, and deadly, Your eldest Daughters have fore-done themselves, And desperately are dead I so I think. He knows not what he says, and vain is it That we present us to him. Very bootless. Edmund is dead my Lord. That's but a trifle here: You Lords and Noble Friends, know our intent, What comfort to this great decay may come, Shall be applied. For us we will resign, During the life of this old Majesty To him our absolute power, you to your rights, With boot, and such addition as your Honours Have more then merited. All Friends shall Taste the wages of their virtue, and all Foes The cup of their deservings: O see, see. And my poor Fool is hanged: no, no, no life? Why should a Dog, a Horse, a Rat have life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Never, never, never, never, never. Pray you undo this Button. Thank you Sir, Do you see this? Look on her? Look her lips, Look there, look there. He faints, my Lord, my Lord. Break heart, I prithee break. Look up my Lord. Vex not his ghost, O let him pass, he hates him, That would upon the wrack of this tough world Stretch him out longer. He is gone indeed. The wonder is, he hath endured so long, He but usurped his life. Bear them from hence, our present business Is general woe: Friends of my soul, you twain, Rule in this Realm, and the gored state sustain. I have a journey Sir, shortly to go, My Master calls me, I must not say no. The weight of this sad time we must obey, Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say: The oldest hath borne most, we that are young, Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 2645–2719 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 46 of 46 in this edition
Length
532 words · 716 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.828 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
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)
Fall and ceaſe. This feather ſtirs, ſhe liues: if it be ſo, It is a chance which do's redeeme all ſorrowes That euer I haue felt. O my good Maſter. Prythee away. 'Tis Noble Kent your Friend. A plague vpon you Murderors, Traitors all, I might haue ſau'd her, now ſhe's gone for euer: Cordelia, Cordelia, ſtay a little. Ha: What is't thou ſaiſt? Her voice was euer ſoft, Gentle, and low, an excellent thing in woman. I kill'd the Slaue that was a hanging thee. 'Tis true (my Lords) he did. Did I not fellow? I haue ſeene the day, with my good biting Faulchion I would haue made him skip: I am old now, And theſe ſame croſſes ſpoile me. Who are you? Mine eyes are not o' th' beſt, Ile tell you ſtraight. If Fortune brag of two, ſhe lou'd and hated, One of them we behold. This is a dull ſight, are you not Kent? The ſame: your Seruant Kent, Where is your Seruant Caius? He's a good fellow, I can tell you that, He'le ſtrike and quickly too, he's dead and rotten. No my good Lord, I am the very man. Ile ſee that ſtraight. That from your firſt of difference and decay, Haue follow'd your ſad ſteps. Your are welcome hither. Nor no man elſe: All's cheerleſſe, darke, and deadly, Your eldeſt Daughters haue fore-done themſelues, And deſperately are dead I ſo I thinke. He knowes not what he ſaies, and vaine is it That we preſent vs to him. Very bootleſſe. Edmund is dead my Lord. That's but a trifle heere: You Lords and Noble Friends, know our intent, What comfort to this great decay may come, Shall be appli'd. For vs we will reſigne, During the life of this old Maieſty To him our abſolute power, you to your rights, With boote, and ſuch addition as your Honours Haue more then merited. All Friends ſhall Taſte the wages of their vertue, and all Foes The cup of their deſeruings: O ſee, ſee. And my poore Foole is hang'd: no, no, no life? Why ſhould a Dog, a Horſe, a Rat haue life, And thou no breath at all? Thou'lt come no more, Neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer, neuer. Pray you vndo this Button. Thanke you Sir, Do you ſee this? Looke on her? Looke her lips, Looke there, looke there. He faints, my Lord, my Lord. Breake heart, I prythee breake. Looke vp my Lord. Vex not his ghoſt, O let him paſſe, he hates him, That would vpon the wracke of this tough world Stretch him out longer. He is gon indeed. The wonder is, he hath endur'd ſo long, He but vſurpt his life. Beare them from hence, our preſent buſineſſe Is generall woe: Friends of my ſoule, you twaine, Rule in this Realme, and the gor'd ſtate ſuſtaine. I haue a iourney Sir, ſhortly to go, My Maſter calls me, I muſt not ſay no. The waight of this ſad time we muſt obey, Speake what we feele, not what we ought to ſay: The oldeſt hath borne moſt, we that are yong, Shall neuer ſee ſo much, nor liue ſo long.