2 Henry the Sixth (The First Part of the Contention betwixt the Two Famous Houses of York and Lancaster) · chunk 18 of 32
Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William · published 1600 · first performed or written c.1590 (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men (?) T43 York and Lancaster: dynastic claims and typicality 0.80 · 493 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T43: henry, king, richard, warwick, york, edward, father, duke, crown, son.
Ay me, the King is dead: help, help, my lords Comfort my Lord, gracious Henry, comfort. What doth my Lord of Suffolk bid me comfort? Came he even now to sing a ravens note, And thinks he that the cherping of a Wren, By crying comfort through a hollow voice, Can satisfy my griefs, or ease my heart? Thou baleful messenger, out of my sight, For even in thy eie-balls murder sits, Yet do not go: come Basaliske And kill the silly gazer with thy looks. Why do you rate my lord of Suffolk thus, As if that he had caused Duke Humphreys death? The Duke and I too, you know were enemies, And you had best say that I did murder him. Ah woe is me, for wretched Gloucester's death. Be we for me, more wretched than he was, What dost thou turn away and hide thy face? I am no loathsome leper, look on me, Was I for this nigh wracked upon the sea? And thrice by awkward winds driven back from England's bounds, What might it bode but that well foretelling Winds said, seek not a scorpions nest. My lord, the Commons like an angry hive ofbees, Run up and down, caring not whom they sting, For good Humphreys death, whom they report To be murdered by Suffolk and the Cardinal here. That he is dead (good Warwick) is too true, But how he died, God knows, not Henry. Enter his privy chamber my lord, and view the body. Good father stay you with the rude multitude till I return. I will son. Ah uncle Gloster, heaven receive thy soul, Farewell poor Henry's joy, now thou art gone. Now by his soul, that took our shape upon him, To free us from his father's dreadful curse, I am resolved that violent hands were laid, Upon the life of this famous Duke. A dreadful oath sworn with a solemn tongue, What instance gives Lord Warwick for these words? Oft have I seen a timely parted ghost, Of ashy semblance, pale and bloodless: But lo, the blood is settled in the face, More better coloured, then when he lived, His well proportioned beard made rough and stern, His fingers spread abroad as one that grasped for life, Yet was by strength surprised, the least of these are probable, It cannot choose but he was murdered. Suffolk and the Cardinal had him in charge. And they I trust sir, are no murderers. Yea, but 'twas well known they were not his friends, And 'tis well seen he found some enemies. But have you no greater proofs than these? Who sees a heifer dead and bleeding fresh, And sees hard by a butcher with an axe, But will suspect 'twas he that made the slaughter? Who finds the partridge in the puttocks nest, But will imagine how the bird came there, Although the Kite soar with unbloody beak? Even so suspicious is this Tragedy.
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)
Ay me, the King is dead: help, help, my lords Comfort my Lord, gracious Henry, comfort. What doth my Lord of Suffolke bid me comfort? Came he euen now to ſing a Rauens note, And thinkes he that the cherping of a Wren, By crying comfort through a hollow voice, Can ſatiſſie my griefes, or eaſe my heart? Thou balefull meſſenger, out of my ſight, For euen in thy eie-balls murther ſits, Yet do not go: come Baſaliske And kill the ſeely gazer with thy lookes. Why do you rate my lord of Suffolke thus, As if that he had cauſde Duke Humphreys death? The Duke and I too, you know were enemies, And you had beſt ſay that I did murther him. Ah woe is me, for wretched Gloſters death. Be wee for me, more wretched then he was, What doſt thou turne away and hide thy face? I am no loathſome leaper, looke on me, Was I for this nie wrackt vpon the ſea? And thrice by aukward winds driuen backe from Englands bounds, What might it bode but that well foretelling Winds ſaid, ſecke not a ſcorpions neaſt. My lord, the Commons like an angry hiue ofbees, Run vp and downe, caring not whom they ſting, For good Humphreys death, whom they report To be murthered by Suffolke and the Cardinal here. That he is dead (good Warwicke) is too true, But how he died, God knowes, not Henry. Enter his priuy chamber my lord, and view the body. Good father ſtay you with the rude multitude til I returne. I will ſonne. Ah vnckle Gloſter, heauen receiue thy ſoule, Farewell poore Henries ioy, now thou art gone. Now by his ſoule, that tooke our ſhape vpon him▪ To free vs from his fathers dreadful curſe, I am reſolu'd that violent hands were laid, Vpon the life of this famous Duke. A dreadfull oath ſworne with a ſolemne tongue, What inſtance giues Lord Warwicke for theſe wordes? Oft haue I ſeene a timely parted ghoſt, Of aſhie ſemblance, pale and bloudleſſe: But loe, the bloud is ſetled in the face, More better coloured, then when he liude, His well proportioned beard made rough and ſterne, His fingers ſpread abroad as one that graſpt for life, Yet was by ſtrength ſurpriſde, the leaſt of theſe are probable, It cannot chuſe but he was murthered. Suffolke and the Cardinall had him in charge. And they I truſt ſir, are no murtherers. Yea, but twas well knowne they were not his friends, And tis well ſeene he found ſome enemies. But haue you no greater proofes then theſe? Who ſees a heifer dead and bleeding freſh, And ſees hard by a butcher with an axe, But wil ſuſpect twas he that made the ſlaughter? Who finds the partrige in the puttockes neaſt, But will imagine how the bird came there, Although the Kite ſoare with vnbloudy beake? Euen ſo ſuſpitious is this Tragedie.