2 Henry the Sixth (The First Part of the Contention betwixt the Two Famous Houses of York and Lancaster) · chunk 30 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 · 480 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.
Enough sweet Suffolk, thou tormentest thyself, And these dread curses like the Sun 'gainst glass, Or like an overcharged Gun, recoil, And turns the force of them upon thyself. You bade me ban, and will you bid me leave? Now by the ground that I am banished from, Well could I curse away a Winter's night, Though standing naked on a Mountain top, Where biting cold would never let grass grow, And think it but a minute spent in sport. Oh, let me entreat thee cease, give me thy hand, That I may due it with my mournful tears: Nor let the rain of heaven wet this place, To wash away my woeful Monuments. Oh, could this kiss be printed in thy hand, That thou mightst think upon these by the Seal, Through whom a thousand sighs are breathed for thee. So get thee gone, that I may know my grief, 'Tis but surmised, whiles thou art standing by, As one that surfeits, thinking on a want: I will repeal thee, or be well assured, Adventure to be banished myself: And banished I am, if but from thee. Go, speak not to me; even now be gone. Oh go not yet. Even thus, two Friends condemned, Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves, Loather a hundred times to part then dye; Yet now farewell, and farewell Life with thee. Thus is poor Suffolk ten times banished, Once by the King, and three times thrice by thee. 'Tis not the Land I care for, were't thou thence, A Wilderness is populous enough, So Suffolk had thy heavenly company: For where thou art, there is the World itself, With every several pleasure in the World: And where thou art not, Desolation. I can no more: Live thou to joy thy life; Myself no joy in nought, but that thou liv'st. Whether goes Vaux so fast? What news I prithee? To signify unto his Majesty, That Cardinal Beauford is at point of death: For suddenly a grievous sickness took him, That makes him gasp, and stare, and catch the air, Blaspheming God, and cursing men on earth. Sometime he talks, as if Duke Humfries Ghost Were by his side: Sometime, he calls the King, And whispers to his pillow, as to him, The secrets of his overcharged soul, And I am sent to tell his Majesty, That even now he cries aloud for him. Go tell this heavy Message to the King. Ay me! What is this World? What news are these? But wherefore grieve I at an hours poor loss, Omitting Suffolk's exile, my soul's Treasure? Why only Suffolk mourn I not for thee? And with the Southern clouds, contend in tears? Theirs for the earth's increase, mine for my sorrows. Now get thee hence, the King thou knowst is coming, If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.
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)
Enough ſweet Suffolke, thou torment'ſt thy ſelfe, And theſe dread curſes like the Sunne 'gainſt glaſſe, Or like an ouer-charged Gun, recoile, And turnes the force of them vpon thy ſelfe. You bad me ban, and will you bid me leaue? Now by the ground that I am baniſh'd from, Well could I curſe away a Winters night, Though ſtanding naked on a Mountaine top, Where byting cold would neuer let graſſe grow, And thinke it but a minute ſpent in ſport. Oh, let me intreat thee ceaſe, giue me thy hand, That I may dew it with my mournfull teaes: Nor let the raine of heauen wet this place, To waſh away my wofull Monuments. Oh, could this kiſſe be printed in thy hand, That thou might'ſt thinke vpon theſe by the Seale, Through whom a thouſand ſighes are breath'd for thee. So get thee gone, that I may know my greefe, 'Tis but ſurmiz'd, whiles thou art ſtanding by, As one that ſurfets, thinking on a want: I will repeale thee, or be well aſſur'd, Aduenture to be baniſhed my ſelfe: And baniſhed I am, if but from thee. Go, ſpeake not to me; euen now be gone. Oh go not yet. Euen thus, two Friends condemn'd, Embrace, and kiſſe, and take ten thouſand leaues, Loather a hundred times to part then dye; Yet now farewell, and farewell Life with thee. Thus is poore Suffolke ten times baniſhed, Once by the King, and three times thrice by thee. 'Tis not the Land I care for, wer't thou thence, A Wilderneſſe is populous enough, So Suffolke had thy heauenly company: For where thou art, there is the World it ſelfe, With euery ſeuerall pleaſure in the World: And where thou art not, Deſolation. I can no more: Liue thou to ioy thy life; My ſelfe no ioy in nought, but that thou liu'ſt. Whether goes Vaux ſo faſt? What newes I prethee? To ſignifie vnto his Maieſty, That Cardinall Beauford is at point of death: For ſodainly a greeuous ſickneſſe tooke him, That makes him gaspe, and ſtare, and catch the aire, Blaſpheming God, and curſing men on earth. Sometime he talkes, as if Duke Humfries Ghoſt Were by his ſide: Sometime, he calles the King, And whiſpers to his pillow, as to him, The ſecrets of his ouer-charged ſoule, And I am ſent to tell his Maieſtie, That euen now he cries alowd for him. Go tell this heauy Meſſage to the King. Aye me! What is this World? What newes are theſe? But wherefore greeue I at an houres poore loſſe, Omitting Suffolkes exile, my ſoules Treaſure? Why onely Suffolke mourne I not for thee? And with the Southerne clouds, contend in teares? Theirs for the earths encreaſe, mine for my ſorrowes. Now get thee hence, the King thou know'ſt is comming, If thou be found by me, thou art but dead.