Peele, George · published 1593 · first performed or written 1591 [1590-1593] (Annals) history · Unknown unassigned nearest T40 Sin, guilt and violent loss within famil · 520 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T40: brother, death, life, die, heaven, sin, live, father, blood, soul.
brother I am resolved and go I will● If God give life, and cheer my dying Queen, Why Mun, why man, whate'er King Edward heats, It lies in God and him to pardon all. I'll have no ghostly Fathers out of France, England hath learned Clerks and Confessors, To comfort and absolve as man may do, And i'll be ghostly Father for this once. Edmund thou mayst not go although thou did. And yet how mayst thou here thy King deny Edward is gracious, merciful, meek and mild, But 〈◊〉 when he finds he is beguiled, Messenger hie thee back to Shrewsbury. Bid Mortimor thy master speed him fast, And with his fortune welcome us to London, I long to see my beauteous lovely Queen. On afore, on afore. Hold up your torches for dropping. A fair procession, Sir David be of good cheer you cannot go out of the way having so many guides at hand. Be sure of that, for we go all the high way to the Gallows I warrant you. I go where my star leads me, and die in my countries just cause and quarrel. The Star that twinkled at thy birth, Good brother mine hath marred thy mirth, An o'd said ●aw Earth must to earth, Next year will be a piteous death, Of Hemp I dare lay a penny: This year is hanged so many. Well said Morgan Pigot Harper, and Prophet for the Kings one mouth. Tunda tedo tedo dote dumb, this is the day th● time is come Morgan Pigot's prophecy and Lord Lluellen's Tragedy. Who saith the Prophet is an Ass, whose prophecies come so to paile: Said he not oft and sung it to, Lluellen after much ado, Should in spite heave up his chin, and be the highest of his kin: And see aloft Lluellen's head, Impaled with a crown of lead: My Lord let not this South-fair lack, That hath such cunning in his jack. David hold still your clack. lest your heels make your new crack. Gentle Prophet and ye love me for spe● me' not, 'tis the worst eke in the world to stir a wirche or anger a wise man, master unless have we any nast, best give my horses some more ●aie. Call forth those renowned Friars come from France, And raise me gentle Ladies in my bed, That while this faltering engine of my speech, I lean to utter my concealed guilt, I may respect and so repent my sins What plague attracts your royal Majesty? Ah Joan I perish through a double wars, First in this painful prison of my soul, A world of dreadful sins holp thee to sight, And Nature having lost her working power, Yields up her earthly Fortunes unto death. Next over War my soul is over priest, In thee my Conscience loaden with misdeeds, Sits seeing my Conscience to ensue, Without especial favour from above. Your Grace must account it a warrior's cross, To make resist where danger there is none, Superdewe your Fever by precious Art, And help you still through hope of heavenly aid
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)
brother I am resolude and goe I will If God iue life, and cheare my dying Queene, Why Mun, why man, what ere King Edward heates, It lies in God and him to pardon all. Ile haue no ghoslie Fathers out of France, England hath learned Clarkes and Confessors, To comfort and absolue as mn may doe, And ile be ghoslie Father for this once. Edmund thou mist not goe although tho di. And yet how maist thou here thy King denie Edard is grious, merciful, meeke and milde, But when e findes he is beguilde, Messenger hie thee backe to Shrewsbury. Bid Mortimor thy maister speede him fast, And with his fortune welcome vs to London, I long to see my beauteous louelie Queene. On afore, on afore. Hold vp your torches for dropping. A faire procession, Sir Dauid be of good chea you cannot goe out of the waie hauing so manie guides at hand. Be sure of that, for we goe all the high way to the Gallowes I warrant you. I goe where my starre leads me, and die in my countreis iust cause and quarrell. The Starre that twinckled at thy birth, Good brother mine hath mard thy mirth, An o'de saide aw Eart must to earth, Next yeare will be a pitteous deth, Of Hempe I dare laie a pennie: Tis yeare is angde so many. Well saide Morgan Pigot Harper, and Prophet for the Kinges one mouth. unda ted tedo dote dum, this is the daie th time is come Morgan Pigots prophecie and Lord Lluellens Tragedie. Who saith the Prophet is an Asse, whose prophecies come so to pailc: Said he not oft ad sung it to, Lluellen after much adoe, Should i spite heaue vp his hin, and be the highest of his kinne: And see aloft Lluellens head, Empalled with a crowne of lead: My Lord let not this South-aire lacke, That hath such cunning in his iacke. Dauid holde still your clacke. Least your heeles make your ne cracke. Gentle Prophet and yee loue me for spe me' not, the worst ke in the world to sturre a wirche or anger a wise man, maister ffe haue wee anie nast, best giue my horses some more aie. Cal forth those renowmed Friers come from France, And raise me gentle Ladies in my bed, That while this faultring engine of my speach, I leane to vtter my concealed guilt, I maie respect and so repent my sinnes VVhat plague acts your roll Maiestie? Ah Ione I perish through a double warres, First in this painfull prison of my soule, A world of dreadfull sins holpe thee to sight, And Nature huing lost her workin power, Yeeldes vp her earthlie Fortunes vnto death. Next ouer VVar my soule is ouer preast, In thee my Conscience loaden with misdeedes, Sittes seeing my Cons ience to ensue, VVithout especiall fauour from aboue. Your Grace must account it a warriors crosse, To make resist where daunger there is none, Superdewe your Feuer by precious Art, And helpe you still through hope of heauenlie aid