2 Henry the Sixth (The First Part of the Contention betwixt the Two Famous Houses of York and Lancaster) · chunk 25 of 49
Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written c.1590 (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men (?) unassigned nearest T29 Disguise and pursuit in Look About You · 533 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T29: gloster, faukenbridge, skinke, hermit, richard, prince, iohn, porter, henry, brother.
Oh, that it were to do: what have we done? Didst ever hear a man so penitent? Here comes my Lord. Now Sirs, have you dispatched this thing? I, my good Lord, he's dead. Why that's well said. Go, get you to my House, I will reward you for this venturous deed: The King and all the Peers are here at hand. Have you laid fair the Bed? Is all things well, According as I gave directions? 'Tis, my good Lord. Away, be gone. Go call our Uncle to our presence strait: Say, we intent to try his Grace to day, If he be guilty, as 'tis published. I'll call him presently, my Noble Lord. Lords take your places: and I pray you all Proceed no straiter 'gainst our Uncle Gloster, Then from true evidence, of good esteem, He be approved in practice culpable. God forbidden any Malice should prevail, That faultless may condemn a Noble man: Pray God he may acquit him of suspicion. I thank thee Nell, these words content me much. How now? why look'st thou pale? why tremblest thou? Where is our Uncle? what's the matter, Suffolk? Dead in his Bed, my Lord: Gloster is dead. Marry God forfend. God's secret judgement: I did dream to Night, The Duke was dumb, and could not speak a word. How fares my Lord? Help Lords, the King is dead. Rear up his Body, wring him by the Nose. Run, go, help, help: Oh Henry open thine eyes. He doth revive again, Madame be patiented. Oh Heavenly God. How fares my gracious Lord? Comfort my Sovereign, gracious Henry comfort. What, doth my Lord of Suffolk comfort me? Came he right now to sing a Raven's Note, Whose dismal tune bereft my Vital powers: And thinks he, that the chirping of a Wren, By crying comfort from a hollow breast, Can chase away the first-conceiued sound? Hide not thy poison with such sugared words, Lay not thy hands on me: forbear I say, Their touch affrights me as a Serpent's sting. Thou baleful Messenger, out of my sight: Upon thy eyeballs, murderous Tyranny Sits in grim Majesty, to fright the World. Look not upon me, for thine eyes are wounding; Yet do not go away: come Basilisk, And kill the innocent gazer with thy sight: For in the shade of death, I shall find joy; In life, but double death, now Gloster's dead. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolk thus? Although the Duke was enemy to him, Yet he most Christianlike laments his death: And for myself, Foe as he was to me, Might liquid tears, or heart-offending groans, Or blood-consuming sighs recall his Life; I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans, Look pale as Primrose with blood-drinking sighs, And all to have the Noble Duke alive. What know I how the world may deem of me? For it is known we were but hollow Friends: It may be judged I made the Duke away, So shall my name with Slanders tongue be wounded, And Prince's Courts be filled with my reproach: This get I by his death: Ay me unhappy, To be a Queen, and Crowned with infamy.
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)
Oh, that it were to doe: what haue we done? Didſt euer heare a man ſo penitent? Here comes my Lord. Now Sirs, haue you diſpatcht this thing? I, my good Lord, hee's dead. Why that's well ſaid. Goe, get you to my Houſe, I will reward you for this venturous deed: The King and all the Peeres are here at hand. Haue you layd faire the Bed? Is all things well, According as I gaue directions? 'Tis, my good Lord. Away, be gone. Goe call our Vnckle to our preſence ſtraight: Say, we intend to try his Grace to day, If he be guiltie, as 'tis publiſhed. Ile call him preſently, my Noble Lord. Lords take your places: and I pray you all Proceed no ſtraiter 'gainſt our Vnckle Gloſter, Then from true euidence, of good eſteeme, He be approu'd in practiſe culpable. God forbid any Malice ſhould preuayle, That faultleſſe may condemne a Noble man: Pray God he may acquit him of ſuſpition. I thanke thee Nell, theſe wordes content mee much. How now? why look'ſt thou pale? why trembleſt thou? Where is our Vnckle? what's the matter, Suffolke? Dead in his Bed, my Lord: Gloſter is dead. Marry God forfend. Gods ſecret Iudgement: I did dreame to Night, The Duke was dumbe, and could not ſpeake a word. How fares my Lord? Helpe Lords, the King is dead. Rere vp his Body, wring him by the Noſe. Runne, goe, helpe, helpe: Oh Henry ope thine eyes. He doth reuiue againe, Madame be patient. Oh Heauenly God. How fares my gracious Lord? Comfort my Soueraigne, gracious Henry comfort. What, doth my Lord of Suffolke comfort me? Came he right now to ſing a Rauens Note, Whoſe diſmall tune bereft my Vitall powres: And thinkes he, that the chirping of a Wren, By crying comfort from a hollow breaſt, Can chaſe away the firſt-conceiued ſound? Hide not thy poyſon with ſuch ſugred words, Lay not thy hands on me: forbeare I ſay, Their touch affrights me as a Serpents ſting. Thou balefull Meſſenger, out of my ſight: Vpon thy eye-balls, murderous Tyrannie Sits in grim Maieſtie, to fright the World. Looke not vpon me, for thine eyes are wounding; Yet doe not goe away: come Baſiliske, And kill the innocent gazer with thy ſight: For in the ſhade of death, I ſhall finde ioy; In life, but double death, now Gloſter's dead. Why do you rate my Lord of Suffolke thus? Although the Duke was enemie to him, Yet he moſt Chriſtian-like laments his death: And for my ſelfe, Foe as he was to me, Might liquid teares, or heart-offending groanes, Or blood-conſuming ſighes recall his Life; I would be blinde with weeping, ſicke with grones, Looke pale as Prim-roſe with blood-drinking ſighes, And all to haue the Noble Duke aliue. What know I how the world may deeme of me? For it is knowne we were but hollow Friends: It may be iudg'd I made the Duke away, So ſhall my name with Slanders tongue be wounded, And Princes Courts be fill'd with my reproach: This get I by his death: Aye me vnhappie, To be a Queene, and Crown'd with infamie.