2 Henry the Sixth (The First Part of the Contention betwixt the Two Famous Houses of York and Lancaster) · chunk 17 of 49
Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written c.1590 (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men (?) unassigned nearest T0 Court life: dukes, favour and honour · 466 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T0: duke, lord, duchess, love, court, madam, prince, honour, grace, lady.
Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a Cloud: And after Summer, evermore succeeds Barren Winter, with his wrathful nipping Cold; So Cares and joys abound, at Seasons fleet. Sirs, what's a Clock? Ten, my Lord. Ten is the hour that was appointed me, To watch the coming of my punished Duchess: Uneath may she endure the Flinty Streets, To tread them with her tender-feeling feet. Sweet Nell, ill can thy Noble Mind abrooke The abject People, gazing on thy face, With envious Looks laughing at thy shame, That erst did follow thy proud Chariot-wheels, When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets. But soft, I think she comes, and I'll prepare My teare-stayned eyes, to see her Miseries. So please your Grace, we'll take her from the Sheriff. No, stir not for your lives, let her pass by. Come you, my Lord, to see my open shame? Now thou dost Penance too. Look how they gaze, See how the giddy multitude do point, And nod their heads, and throw their eyes on thee. Ah Gloster, hide thee from their hateful looks, And in thy Closet penned up, rue my shame, And ban thine Enemies, both mine and thine. Be patiented, gentle Nell, forget this grief. Ah Gloster, teach me to forget myself: For whilst I think I am thy married Wife, And thou a Prince, Protector of this Land, methinks I should not thus be led along, Mayled up in shame, with Papers on my back, And followed with a Rabble, that rejoice To see my tears, and hear my deepe-fet groans. The ruthless Flint doth cut my tender feet, And when I start, the envious people laugh, And bid me be advised how I tread. Ah Humphrey, can I bear this shameful yoke? Trowest thou, that ere I'll look upon the World, Or count them happy, that enjoys the Sun? No: Darke shall be my Light, and Night my Day. To think upon my Pomp, shall be my Hell. Sometime I'll say, I am Duke Humfrey's Wife, And he a Prince, and Ruler of the Land: Yet so he ruled, and such a Prince he was, As he stood by, whilst I, his forlorn Duchess, Was made a wonder, and a pointing stock To every idle Rascal follower. But be thou mild, and blush not at my shame, Nor stir at nothing, till the Axe of Death Hang over thee, as sure it shortly will. For Suffolk, he that can do all in all With her, that hateth thee and hates us all, And York, and impious Beauford, that false Priest, Have all limed Bushes to betray thy Wings, And fly thou how thou canst, they'll tangle thee. But fear not thou, until thy foot be snared, Nor never seek prevention of thy foes.
seed 43: T0 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Thus ſometimes hath the brighteſt day a Cloud: And after Summer, euermore ſucceedes Barren Winter, with his wrathfull nipping Cold; So Cares and Ioyes abound, at Seaſons fleet. Sirs, what's a Clock? Tenne, my Lord. Tenne is the houre that was appointed me, To watch the comming of my puniſht Ducheſſe: Vnneath may ſhee endure the Flintie Streets, To treade them with her tender-feeling feet. Sweet Nell, ill can thy Noble Minde abrooke The abiect People, gazing on thy face, With enuious Lookes laughing at thy ſhame, That erſt did follow thy prowd Chariot-Wheeles, When thou didſt ride in triumph through the ſtreets. But ſoft, I thinke ſhe comes, and Ile prepare My teare-ſtayn'd eyes, to ſee her Miſeries. So pleaſe your Grace, wee'le take her from the Sherife. No, ſtirre not for your liues, let her paſſe by. Come you, my Lord, to ſee my open ſhame? Now thou do'ſt Penance too. Looke how they gaze, See how the giddy multitude doe point, And nodde their heads, and throw their eyes on thee. Ah Gloſter, hide thee from their hatefull lookes, And in thy Cloſet pent vp, rue my ſhame, And banne thine Enemies, both mine and thine. Be patient, gentle Nell, forget this griefe. Ah Gloster, teach me to forget my ſelfe: For whileſt I thinke I am thy married Wife, And thou a Prince, Protector of this Land, Me thinkes I ſhould not thus be led along, Mayl'd vp in ſhame, with Papers on my back, And follow'd with a Rabble, that reioyce To ſee my teares, and heare my deepe-fet groanes. The ruthleſſe Flint doth cut my tender feet, And when I ſtart, the enuious people laugh, And bid me be aduiſed how I treade. Ah Humfrey, can I beare this ſhamefull yoake? Troweſt thou, that ere Ile looke vpon the World, Or count them happy, that enioyes the Sunne? No: Darke ſhall be my Light, and Night my Day. To thinke vpon my Pompe, ſhall be my Hell. Sometime Ile ſay, I am Duke Humfreyes Wife, And he a Prince, and Ruler of the Land: Yet ſo he rul'd, and ſuch a Prince he was, As he ſtood by, whileſt I, his forlorne Ducheſſe, Was made a wonder, and a pointing ſtock To euery idle Raſcall follower. But be thou milde, and bluſh not at my ſhame, Nor ſtirre at nothing, till the Axe of Death Hang ouer thee, as ſure it ſhortly will. For Suffolke, he that can doe all in all With her, that hateth thee and hates vs all, And Yorke, and impious Beauford, that falſe Prieſt, Haue all lym'd Buſhes to betray thy Wings, And flye thou how thou canſt, they'le tangle thee. But feare not thou, vntill thy foot be ſnar'd, Nor neuer ſeeke preuention of thy foes.