2 Henry the Sixth (The First Part of the Contention betwixt the Two Famous Houses of York and Lancaster) · chunk 37 of 49
Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written c.1590 (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men (?) T18 Rebels, barons and the king's wars at ho typicality 0.74 · 485 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
They are all in order, and march toward us. But then are we in order, when we are most out of order. Come, march forward. Where's Dick, the Butcher of Ashford? here sir. They fell before thee like Sheep and Oxen, & thou behaued'st thyself, as if thou hadst been in thine own Slaughter-house: Therefore thus will I reward thee, the Lent shall be as long again as it is, and thou shalt have a Licence to kill for a hundred lacking one. I desire no more. And to speak truth, thou deservest no less. This Monument of the victory will I bear, and the bodies shall be dragged at my horse heels, till I do come to London, where we will have the Mayor's sword born before us. If we mean to thrive, and do good, break open the Gaoles, and let out the Prisoners. Fear not that I warrant thee. Come, let's march towards London. Oft have I heard that grief softens the mind, And makes it fearful and degenerate, Think therefore on revenge, and cease to weep. But who can cease to weep, and look on this. here may his head lie on my throbbing breast: But where's the body that I should embrace? What answer makes your Grace to the Rebels Supplication? I'll send some holy Bishop to entreat: For God forbidden, so many simple souls Should perish by the Sword. And I myself, Rather than bloody War shall cut them short, Will parley with Iacke Cade their General. But stay, I'll read it over once again. Ah barbarous villains: Hath this lovely face, Ruled like a wandering Planet over me, And could it not enforce them to relent, That were unworthy to behold the same. Lord Say, Iacke Cade hath sworn to haue thy head. I, but I hope your Highness shall have his. How now Madam? Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolk's death? I fear me (Love) if that I had been dead, Thou wouldst not have mourned so much for me. No my Love, I should not mourn, but die for thee. How now? What news? Why comest thou in such haste? The Rebels are in Southwark: Fly my Lord: Iacke Cade proclaims himself Lord Mortimer, Descended from the Duke of Clarence house, And calls your Grace Usurper, openly, And vows to Crown himself in Westminster. His Army is a ragged multitude Of Hinds and Peasants, rude and merciless: Sir Humphrey Stafford, and his Brother's death, Hath given them heart and courage to proceed: All Scholars, Lawyers, Courtiers, Gentlemen, They call false Caterpillars, and intent their death. Oh graceless men: they know not what they do. My gracious Lord, retire to Killingworth, Until a power be raised to put them down. Ah were the Duke of Suffolk now alive, These Kentish Rebels would be soon appeased. Lord Say, the Traitors hateth thee, Therefore away with us to Killingworth.
Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William
Publication year (edition)
1623
First performance / composition (Annals)
c.1590
First performance (BritDrama)
1591 [1587-1592]
Company (BritDrama)
Pembroke's Men (?)
Genre (British Drama)
history
Play type
Adult Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 224 · TCP A11954 · DEEP 5081.21
Edition role
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 2206–2257 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 37 of 49 in this edition
Length
485 words · 658 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T18 — Rebels, barons and the king's wars at homecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.745 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T22 · seed 44: T13 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
They are all in order, and march toward vs. But then are we in order, when we are moſt out of order. Come, march forward. Where's Dicke, the Butcher of Aſhford? Heere ſir. They fell before thee like Sheepe and Oxen, & thou behaued'ſt thy ſelfe, as if thou hadſt beene in thine owne Slaughter-houſe: Therfore thus will I reward thee, the Lent ſhall bee as long againe as it is, and thou ſhalt haue a Licenſe to kill for a hundred lacking one. I deſire no more. And to ſpeake truth, thou deſeru'ſt no leſſe. This Monument of the victory will I beare, and the bodies ſhall be dragg'd at my horſe heeles, till I do come to London, where we will haue the Maiors ſword born before vs. If we meane to thriue, and do good, breake open the Gaoles, and let out the Priſoners. Feare not that I warrant thee. Come, let's march towards London. Oft haue I heard that greefe ſoftens the mind, And makes it fearefull and degenerate, Thinke therefore on reuenge, and ceaſe to weepe. But who can ceaſe to weepe, and looke on this. Heere may his head lye on my throbbing breſt: But where's the body that I ſhould imbrace? What anſwer makes your Grace to the Rebells Supplication? Ile ſend ſome holy Biſhop to intreat: For God forbid, ſo many ſimple ſoules Should periſh by the Sword. And I my ſelfe, Rather then bloody Warre ſhall cut them ſhort, Will parley with Iacke Cade their Generall. But ſtay, Ile read it ouer once againe. Ah barbarous villaines: Hath this louely face, Rul'd like a wandering Plannet ouer me, And could it not inforce them to relent, That were vnworthy to behold the ſame. Lord Say, Iacke Cade hath ſworne to huae thy head. I, but I hope your Highneſſe ſhall haue his. How now Madam? Still lamenting and mourning for Suffolkes death? I feare me (Loue) if that I had beene dead, Thou would'ſt not haue mourn'd ſo much for me. No my Loue, I ſhould not mourne, but dye for thee. How now? What newes? Why com'ſt thou in ſuch haſte? The Rebels are in Southwarke: Fly my Lord: Iacke Cade proclaimes himſelfe Lord Mortimer, Deſcended from the Duke of Clarence houſe, And calles your Grace Vſurper, openly, And vowes to Crowne himſelfe in Weſtminſter. His Army is a ragged multitude Of Hindes and Pezants, rude and mercileſſe: Sir Humfrey Stafford, and his Brothers death, Hath giuen them heart and courage to proceede: All Schollers, Lawyers, Courtiers, Gentlemen, They call falſe Catterpillers, and intend their death. Oh graceleſſe men: they know not what they do. My gracious Lord, retire to Killingworth, Vntill a power be rais'd to put them downe. Ah were the Duke of Suffolke now aliue, Theſe Kentiſh Rebels would be ſoone appeas'd. Lord Say, the Traitors hateth thee, Therefore away with vs to Killingworth.