Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1610 [c.1610-1611] (Annals) romance · King's Men T38 Death, parting and grief at court typicality 0.89 · 471 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
My Lord the King: the King? What is the business? O Sir, I shall be hated to report it. The Prince your Son, with mere conceit, and fear Of the Queen's speed, is gone. How? gone? Is dead. Apollo's angry, and the Heavens themselves Do strike at my Injustice. How now there? This news is mortal to the Queen: Look down And see what Death is doing. Take her hence: Her heart is but o'ercharged: she will recover. I have too much believed mine own suspicion: Beseech you tenderly apply to her Some remedies for life. Apollo pardon My great profaneness 'gainst thine Oracle. I'll reconcile me to Polixenes, New woe my Queen, recall the good Camillo (Whom I proclaim a man of Truth, of Mercy:) For being transported by my jealousies To bloody thoughts, and to revenge, I chose Camillo for the minister, to poison My friend Polixenes: which had been done, But that the good mind of Camillo tardied My swift command: though I with Death, and with Reward, did threaten and encourage him, Not doing it, and being done: he (most humane, And filled with Honour) to my Kingly Guest Unclasped my practice, quit his fortunes here (Which you knew great) and to the hazard Of all Incertainties, himself commended, No richer than his Honour: How he glisters Through my Rust? and how his Piety Does my deeds make the blacker? Woe the while: O cut my Lace, lest my heart (cracking it) Break too. What fit is this? good Lady? What studied torments (Tyrant) hast for me? What Wheels? Racks? Fires? What slaying? boiling? In Leads, or Oils? What old, or newer Torture Must I receive? whose every word deserves To taste of thy most worst. Thy Tyranny (Together working with thy jealousies, Fancies too weak for Boys, too green and idle For Girls of Nine) O think what they have done, And then run mad indeed: stark-mad: for all Thy bygone fooleries were but spices of it. That thou betrayed'st Polixenes, 'twas nothing, (That did but show thee, of a Fool, inconstant, And damnable ingrateful:) Nor was't much, Thou wouldst have poisoned good Camillo's Honour, To have him kill a King: poor Trespasses, More monstrous standing by: whereof I reckon The casting forth to Crows, thy Baby-daughter, To be or none, or little; though a Devil Would have shed water out of fire, ere don't: Nor is't directly laid to thee the death Of the young Prince, whose honourable thoughts (Thoughts high for one so tender) cloven the heart That could conceive a gross and foolish Sire Blemished his gracious Dam: this is not, no, Laid to thy answer: but the last: O Lords, When I have said, cry woe: the Queen, the Oueene, The sweetest, dearest creature's dead: & vengeance for't Not dropped down yet.
seed 43: T44 · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
My Lord the King: the King? What is the buſineſſe? O Sir, I ſhall be hated to report it. The Prince your Sonne, with meere conceit, and feare Of the Queenes ſpeed, is gone. How? gone? Is dead. Apollo's angry, and the Heauens themſelues Doe ſtrike at my Iniuſtice. How now there? This newes is mortall to the Queene: Look downe And ſee what Death is doing. Take her hence: Her heart is but o're-charg'd: ſhe will recouer. I haue too much beleeu'd mine owne ſuſpition: 'Beſeech you tenderly apply to her Some remedies for life. Apollo pardon My great prophaneneſſe 'gainſt thine Oracle. Ile reconcile me to Polixenes, New woe my Queene, recall the good Camillo (Whom I proclaime a man of Truth, of Mercy:) For being tranſported by my Iealouſies To bloody thoughts, and to reuenge, I choſe Camillo for the miniſter, to poyſon My friend Polixenes: which had been done, But that the good mind of Camillo tardied My ſwift command: though I with Death, and with Reward, did threaten and encourage him, Not doing it, and being done: he (moſt humane, And fill'd with Honor) to my Kingly Gueſt Vnclaſp'd my practiſe, quit his fortunes here (Which you knew great) and to the hazard Of all Incertainties, himſelfe commended, No richer then his Honor: How he gliſters Through my Ruſt? and how his Pietie Do's my deeds make the blacker? Woe the while: O cut my Lace, leaſt my heart (cracking it) Breake too. What fit is this? good Lady? What ſtudied torments (Tyrant) haſt for me? What Wheeles? Racks? Fires? What flaying? boyling? In Leads, or Oyles? What old, or newer Torture Muſt I receiue? whoſe euery word deſerues To taſte of thy moſt worſt. Thy Tyranny (Together working with thy Iealouſies, Fancies too weake for Boyes, too greene and idle For Girles of Nine) O thinke what they haue done, And then run mad indeed: ſtarke-mad: for all Thy by-gone fooleries were but ſpices of it. That thou betrayed'ſt Polixenes, 'twas nothing, (That did but ſhew thee, of a Foole, inconſtant, And damnable ingratefull:) Nor was't much, Thou would'ſt haue poyſon'd good Camillo's Honor, To haue him kill a King: poore Treſpaſſes, More monſtrous ſtanding by: whereof I reckon The caſting forth to Crowes, thy Baby-daughter, To be or none, or little; though a Deuill Would haue ſhed water out of fire, ere don't: Nor is't directly layd to thee the death Of the young Prince, whoſe honorable thoughts (Thoughts high for one ſo tender) cleft the heart That could conceiue a groſſe and fooliſh Sire Blemiſh'd his gracious Dam: this is not, no, Layd to thy anſwere: but the laſt: O Lords, When I haue ſaid, cry woe: the Queene, the Oueene, The ſweet'ſt, deer'ſt creature's dead: & vengeance for't Not drop'd downe yet.