The True Tragedy of Richard the Third · chunk 36 of 40
Anonymous · published 1594 · first performed or written 1591 [1588-1594] (Annals) tragedy; history · Queen Elizabeth's Men unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 456 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
We will my Lord, a Catesbie, thou lookest like a dog, and thou Lovell too, but you will run away with them that be gone, and the devil go with you all, God I hope, God, what talk I of God, that have served the devil all this while. No, fortune and courage for me, and join England against me with England, join Europe with Europe, come Christendom, and with Christendom the whole world, and yet I will never yield but by death only. By death, no die, part not childishly from thy Crown, but come the devil to claim it, strike him down, & though that Fortune hath decreed, to set revenge with triumphs on my wretched head, yet death, sweet death, my latest friend, hath sworn to make a bargain for my lasting fame, and this, I this very day, I hope with this lame hand of mine, to rake out that hateful heart of Richmond, and when I have it, to eat it panting hot with salt, and drink his blood lukewarm, though I be sure 'twill poison me. Sirs you that be resolute follow me, the rest go hang yourselves. A horse, a horse, a fresh horse. A fly my Lord, and save your life. Fly villain, look I as though I would fly, no first shall this dull and senseless ball of earth receive my body cold and void of sense, you watery heavens roll on my gloomy day, and darksome clouds close up my cheerful sound, down is thy sun Richard, never to shine again, the birds whose feathers should adorn my head, hovers aloft & dares not come in sight, yet faint not man, for this day if Fortune will, shall make thee King possessed with quiet Crown, if Fates deny, this ground must be my grave, yet golden thoughts that reached for a Crown, daunted before by Fortune's cruel spite, are come as comforts to my drooping heart, and bids me keep my Crown and die a King. These are my last, what more I have to say, i'll make report among the damned souls. How may I know the certain true report of this victorious battle fought today, my friend whate'er thou be'st, tell unto me the true report, which part hath won the victory, whether the King or no? ah no, the King is slain and he hath lost the day, and Richmond he hath won the field, and triumphs like a valiant conqueror. But who is slain besides our Lord and sovereign? Slain is the worthy Duke of Norfolk he, & with him sir Robart Brokenby, Lieutenant of the Tower, besides Lovell, he made also a partner in this Tragedy. But where's sir William Catsby?
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)
We will my Lord, a Catesbie, thou lookeſt like a dog, and thou Louell too, but you will runne away with them that be gone, and the diuel go with you all, God I hope, God, what talke I of God, that haue ſerued the diuell all this while. No, fortune and courage for mee, and ioyne England againſt mee with England, Ioyne Europe with Europe, come Chriſtendome, and with Chriſtendome the whole world, and yet I will neuer yeeld but by death onely. By death, no die, part not childiſhly from thy Crowne, but come the diuell to claime it, ſtrike him down, & tho that Fortune hath decreed, to ſet reuenge with triumphs on my wretched head, yet death, ſweete death, my lateſt friend, hath ſworne to make a bargaine for my laſting fame, and this, I this verie day, I hope with this lame hand of mine, to rake out that hatefull heart of Richmond, and when I haue it, to eate it panting hote with ſalt, and drinke his blood luke warme, tho I be ſure twil poyſon me. Sirs you that be reſolute follow me, the reſt go hang your ſelues. A horſe, a horſe, a freſh horſe. A flie my Lord, and ſaue your life. Flie villaine, looke I as tho I would flie, no firſt ſhall this dull and ſenceleſſe ball of earth receiue my bodie cold and void of ſence, you watry heauens rowle on my gloomy day, and darkſome cloudes cloſe vp my cheerfull ſownde, downe is thy ſunne Richard, neuer to ſhine againe, the birdes whoſe feathers ſhould adorne my head, houers aloft & dares not come in ſight, yet faint not man, for this day if Fortune will, ſhall make thee King poſſeſt with quiet Crown, if Fates deny, this ground muſt be my graue, yet golden thoughts that reached for a Crowne, danted before by Fortunes cruell ſpight, are come as comforts to my drooping heart, and bids me keepe my Crowne and die a King. Theſe are my laſt, what more I haue to ſay, ile make report among the damned ſoules. How may I know the certain true report of this victorious battell fought to day, my friend what ere thou beeſt, tel vnto mee the true report, which part hath wonne the victorie, whether the King or no? A no, the King is ſlaine and he hath loſt the day, and Richmond he hath wonne the field, and tryumphs like a valiant conquerer. But who is ſlaine beſides our Lord and ſoueraigne? Slaine is the worthie Duke of Northfolke he, & with him ſir Robart Brokenby, Lieftenant of the Tower, beſides Louell, he made alſo a partner in this Tragedie. But wheres ſir William Catsby?