2 Henry the Sixth (The First Part of the Contention betwixt the Two Famous Houses of York and Lancaster) · chunk 48 of 49
Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written c.1590 (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men (?) unassigned nearest T46 Swords, quarrels and valour · 466 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T46: rapier, sword, fight, gentlemen, gentleman, kicked, kill, dagger, signor, valour.
How now my Noble Lord? What all afoot. The deadly handed Clifford slew my Steed: But match to match I have encountered him, And made a prey for Carrion Kites and Crows Even of the bonny beast he loved so well. Of one or both of us the time is come. Hold Warwick: seek thee out some other chase For I myself must hunt this Deer to death. Then nobly York, 'tis for a Crown thou fightest: As I intent Clifford to thrive to day, It grieves my soul to leave thee vnassail'd. What seest thou in me York? Why dost thou pause? With thy brave bearing should I be in love, But that thou art so fast mine enemy. Nor should thy prowess want praise & esteem, But that 'tis shown ignobly, and in Treason. So let it help me now against thy sword, As I in justice, and true right express it. My soul and body on the action both. A dreadful lay, address thee instantly. La fia Corrone les eumenes. Thus War hath given thee peace, for thou art still, Peace with his soul, heaven if it be thy will. Shame and Confusion all is on the rout, Fear frames disorder, and disorder wounds Where it should guard. O War, thou son of hell, Whom angry heavens do make their minister, Throw in the frozen bosoms of our part, Hot Coals of Vengeance. Let no Soldier fly. He that is truly dedicated to War, Hath no self-love: nor he that loves himself, Hath not essentially, but by circumstance The name of Valour. O let the vile world end, And the premised Flames of the Last day, Knit earth and heaven together. Now let the general Trumpet blow his blast, Particularities, and petty sounds To cease. Was't thou ordained (dear Father) To lose thy youth in peace, and to atcheeve The Silver Livery of advised Age, And in thy Reverence, and thy Chaire-dayes, thus To die in Ruffian battle? Even at this sight, My heart is turned to stone: and while 'tis mine, It shall be stony. York, not our old men spares: No more will I their Babes, Tears Virginal, Shall be to me, even as the Dew to Fire, And Beauty, that the Tyrant oft reclaims, Shall to my flaming wrath, be Oil and Flax: Henceforth, I will not have to do with pity. Meet I an infant of the house of York, Into as many gobbets will I cut it As wild Medea young Absirtis did. In cruelty, will I seek out my Fame. Come thou new ruin of old Clifford's house: As did Aeneas old Anchyses bear, So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders: But then, Aeneas bore a living load; Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.
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)
How now my Noble Lord? What all a-foot. The deadly handed Clifford ſlew my Steed: But match to match I haue encountred him, And made a prey for Carrion Kytes and Crowes Euen of the bonnie beaſt he loued ſo well. Of one or both of vs the time is come. Hold Warwick: ſeek thee out ſome other chace For I my ſelfe muſt hunt this Deere to death. Then nobly Yorke, 'tis for a Crown thou fightſt: As I intend Clifford to thriue to day, It greeues my ſoule to leaue theee vnaſſail'd. What ſeeſt thou in me Yorke? Why doſt thou pauſe? With thy braue bearing ſhould I be in loue, But that thou art ſo faſt mine enemie. Nor ſhould thy proweſſe want praiſe & eſteeme, But that 'tis ſhewne ignobly, and in Treaſon. So let it helpe me now againſt thy ſword, As I in iuſtice, and true right expreſſe it. My ſoule and bodie on the action both. A dreadfull lay, addreſſe thee inſtantly. La fia Corrone les eumenes. Thus Warre hath giuen thee peace, for yu art ſtill, Peace with his ſoule, heauen if it be thy will. Shame and Confuſion all is on the rout, Feare frames diſorder, and diſorder wounds Where it ſhould guard. O Warre, thou ſonne of hell, Whom angry heauens do make their miniſter, Throw in the frozen boſomes of our part, Hot Coales of Vengeance. Let no Souldier flye. He that is truly dedicate to Warre, Hath no ſelfe-loue: nor he that loues himſelfe, Hath not eſſentially, but by circumſtance The name of Valour. O let the vile world end, And the premiſed Flames of the Laſt day, Knit earth and heauen together. Now let the generall Trumpet blow his blaſt, Particularities, and pettie ſounds To ceaſe. Was't thou ordain'd (deere Father) To looſe thy youth in peace, and to atcheeue The Siluer Liuery of aduiſed Age, And in thy Reuerence, and thy Chaire-dayes, thus To die in Ruffian battell? Euen at this ſight, My heart is turn'd to ſtone: and while 'tis mine, It ſhall be ſtony. Yorke, not our old men ſpares: No more will I their Babes, Teares Virginall, Shall be to me, euen as the Dew to Fire, And Beautie, that the Tyrant oft reclaimes, Shall to my flaming wrath, be Oyle and Flax: Henceforth, I will not haue to do with pitty. Meet I an infant of the houſe of Yorke, Into as many gobbits will I cut it As wilde Medea yong Abſirtis did. In cruelty, will I ſeeke out my Fame. Come thou new ruine of olde Cliffords houſe: As did Aeneas old Anchyſes beare, So beare I thee vpon my manly ſhoulders: But then, Aeneas bare a liuing loade; Nothing ſo heauy as theſe woes of mine.