2 Henry the Sixth (The First Part of the Contention betwixt the Two Famous Houses of York and Lancaster) · chunk 21 of 49
Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written c.1590 (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men (?) unassigned nearest T31 Popes, cardinals and the crown · 491 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T31: cardinal, pope, king, lord, majesty, holy, rome, france, church, lords.
Why 'tis well known, that whiles I was Protector, Pity was all the fault that was in me: For I should melt at an Offenders tears, And lowly words were Ransom for their fault: Unless it were a bloody Murderer, Or foul felonious Thief, that fleeced poor passengers, I never gave them condign punishment. Murder indeed, that bloody sin, I tortured Above the Felon, or what Trespass else. My Lord, these faults are easy, quickly answered: But mightier Crimes are laid unto your charge, Whereof you cannot easily purge yourself. I do arrest you in his Highness' Name, And here commit you to my Lord Cardinal To keep, until your further time of Trial. My Lord of Gloster, 'tis my special hope, That you will clear yourself from all suspense, My Conscience tells me you are innocent. Ah gracious Lord, these days are dangerous: Virtue is choked with foul Ambition, And Charity chased hence by Rancours hand; Fowl Subornation is predominant, And Equity exiled your Highness Land. I know, their Complot is to have my Life: And if my death might make this Island happy, And prove the Period of their Tyranny, I would expend it with all willingness, But mine is made the Prologue to their Play: For thousands more, that yet suspect no peril, Will not conclude their plotted Tragedy. Beauford's red sparkling eyes blab his heart's malice, And Suffolk's cloudy Brow his stormy hate; Sharp Buckingham unburthens with his tongue, The envious Load that lies upon his heart: And dogged York, that reaches at the Moon, Whose overweening Arm I have pluckt-back, By false accuse doth level at my Life. And you, my Sovereign Lady, with the rest, Causeless have laid disgraces on my head, And with your best endeavour have stirred up My liefest Liege to be mine Enemy: I, all of you have laid your heads together, Myself had notice of your Conventicles, And all to make away my guiltless Life. I shall not want false Witness, to condemn me, Nor store of Treasons, to augment my guilt: The ancient Proverb will be well effected, A Staff is quickly found to beat a Dog. My Liege, his railing is intolerable. If those that care to keep your Royal Person From Treasons secret Knife, and Traitor's Rage, Be thus upbraided, chid, and rated at, And the Offender granted scope of speech, 'Twill make them cool in zeal unto your Grace. Hath he not twit our Sovereign Lady here With ignominious words, though clarkly couched? As if she had suborned some to swear False allegations, to o'erthrow his state. But I can give the loser leave to chide. far truer spoke than meant: I lose indeed, Beshrew the winners, for they played me false, And well such losers may have leave to speak. he'll wrest the sense, and hold us here all day. Lord Cardinal, he is your Prisoner. Sirs, take away the Duke, and guard him sure.
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)
Why 'tis well known, that whiles I was Protector, Pittie was all the fault that was in me: For I ſhould melt at an Offendors teares, And lowly words were Ranſome for their fault: Vnleſſe it were a bloody Murtherer, Or foule felonious Theefe, that fleec'd poore paſſengers, I neuer gaue them condigne puniſhment. Murther indeede, that bloodie ſinne, I tortur'd Aboue the Felon, or what Treſpas elſe. My Lord, theſe faults are eaſie, quickly anſwer'd: But mightier Crimes are lay'd vnto your charge, Whereof you cannot eaſily purge your ſelfe. I doe arreſt you in his Highneſſe Name, And here commit you to my Lord Cardinall To keepe, vntill your further time of Tryall. My Lord of Gloſter, 'tis my ſpeciall hope, That you will cleare your ſelfe from all ſuſpence, My Conſcience tells me you are innocent. Ah gracious Lord, theſe dayes are dangerous: Vertue is choakt with foule Ambition, And Charitie chas'd hence by Rancours hand; Foule Subornation is predominant, And Equitie exil'd your Highneſſe Land. I know, their Complot is to haue my Life: And if my death might make this Iland happy, And proue the Period of their Tyrannie, I would expend it with all willingneſſe, But mine is made the Prologue to their Play: For thouſands more, that yet ſuſpect no perill, Will not conclude their plotted Tragedie. Beaufords red ſparkling eyes blab his hearts mallice, And Suffolks cloudie Brow his ſtormie hate; Sharpe Buckingham vnburthens with his tongue, The enuious Load that lyes vpon his heart: And dogged Yorke, that reaches at the Moone, Whoſe ouer-weening Arme I haue pluckt-back, By falſe accuſe doth leuell at my Life. And you, my Soueraigne Lady, with the reſt, Cauſeleſſe haue lay'd diſgraces on my head, And with your beſt endeuour haue ſtirr'd vp My liefeſt Liege to be mine Enemie: I, all of you haue lay'd your heads together, My ſelfe had notice of your Conuenticles, And all to make away my guiltleſſe Life. I ſhall not want falſe Witneſſe, to condemne me, Nor ſtore of Treaſons, to augment my guilt: The ancient Prouerbe will be well effected, A Staffe is quickly found to beat a Dogge. My Liege, his rayling is intollerable. If thoſe that care to keepe your Royall Perſon From Treaſons ſecret Knife, and Traytors Rage, Be thus vpbrayded, chid, and rated at, And the Offendor graunted ſcope of ſpeech, 'Twill make them coole in zeale vnto your Grace. Hath he not twit our Soueraigne Lady here With ignominious words, though Clarkely coucht? As if ſhe had ſuborned ſome to ſweare Falſe allegations, to o'rethrow his ſtate. But I can giue the loſer leaue to chide. Farre truer ſpoke then meant: I loſe indeede, Beſhrew the winners, for they play'd me falſe, And well ſuch loſers may haue leaue to ſpeake. Hee'le wreſt the ſence, and hold vs here all day. Lord Cardinall, he is your Priſoner. Sirs, take away the Duke, and guard him ſure.