Marlowe, Christopher · published 1594 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1593] (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
My lord I hear it whispered everywhere, That I am banished, and must fly the land. 'tis true sweet Gaveston, oh were it false, The Legate of the Pope will have it so, And thou must hence, or I shall be deposed, But I will reign to be revenged of them, And therefore sweet friend, take it patiently, Live where thou wilt, i'll send thee gold enough, And long thou shalt not stay, or if thou dost, I'll come to thee, my love shall near decline. Is all my hope turned to this hell of grief. Rend not my heart with thy too piercing words Thou from this land, I from myself am banished. To go from hence, grieves not poor Gaveston, But to forsake you, in whose gracious looks The blessedness of Gaveston remains, For nowhere else seeks he felicity. And only this torments my wretched soul, That whether I will or no thou must depart: Be governor of Ireland in my stead, And there abide till fortune call thee home. Here take my picture, and let me wear thine, O might I keep thee here, as I do this, Happy were I, but now most miserable. 'tis something to be pitied of a king. Thou shalt not hence, i'll hide thee Gaveston. I shall be found, and then 'twill grieve me more. Kind words, and mutual talk, makes our grief greater. Therefore with dumb embracement let us part, Stay Gaveston I cannot leave thee thus. For every look, my lord drops down a tear, Seeing I must go, do not renew my sorrow. The time is little that thou hast to stay, And therefore give me leave to look my fill, But come sweet friend, i'll bear thee on thy way. The peers will frown. I pass not for their anger, come let's go, O that we might as well return as go. Whether goes my lord? Fawn not on me French strumpet, get thee gone. On whom but on my husband should I fawn? On Mortimer, with whom ungentle Queen, I say no more, judge you the rest my lord. In saying this, thou wrong'st me Gaveston, Is't not enough, that thou corrupts my lord, And art a bawd to his affections, But thou must call mine honour thus in question? I mean not so, your grace must pardon me. Thou art too familiar with that Mortimer, And by thy means is Gaveston exiled, But I would wish thee reconcile the lords, Or thou shalt near be reconciled to me. Your highness knows, it lies not in my power. Away then, touch me not, come Gaveston. Villain, 'tis thou that robbest me of my lord. Madam, 'tis you that rob me of my lord. Speak not unto her, let her droop and pine. Wherein my lord, have I deserved these words? Witness the tears that Isabella sheds, Witness this heart, that sighing for thee breaks, How dear my lord is to poor Isabell.
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)
My lord I heare it whispered euery where, That I am banishd, and must flie the land. Tis true sweete Gaueston, oh were it false, The Legate of the Pope will haue it so, And thou must hence, or I shall be deposd, But I will raigne to be reueng'd of them, And therefore sweete friend, take it patiently, Liue where thou wilt, ile send thee gould enough, And long thou shalt not stay, or if thou doost, Ile come to thee, my loue shall neare decline. Is all my hope turnd to this hell of greefe. Rend not my hart with thy too piercing words Thou from this land, I from my selfe am banisht. To go from hence, greeues not poore Gaueston, But to forsake you, in whose gratious lookes The blessednes of Gaueston remaines, For no where else seekes he felicitie. And onely this torments my wretched soule, That whether I will or no thou must depart: Be gouernour of Ireland in my stead, And there abide till fortune call thee home. Here take my picture, and let me weare thine, O might I keepe thee heere, as I doe this, Happie were I, but now most miserable. Tis something to be pitied of a king. Thou shalt not hence, ile hide thee Gaueston. I shal be found, and then twil greeue me more. Kinde wordes, and mutuall talke, makes our greefe greater. Therefore with dum imbracement let vs part, Stay Gaueston I cannot leaue thee thus. For euery looke, my lord drops downe a teare, Seeing I must go, do not renew my sorrow. The time is little that thou hast to stay, And therefore giue me leaue to looke my fill, But come sweete friend, ile beare thee on thy way. The peeres will frowne. I passe not for their anger, come lets go, O that we might as well returne as goe. Whether goes my lord? Fawne not on me French strumpet, get thee gone. On whom but on my husband should I fawne? On Mortimer, with whom vngentle Queene, I say no more, iudge you the rest my lord. In saying this, thou wrongst me Gaueston, Ist not enough, that thou corrupts my lord, And art a bawd to his affections, But thou must call mine honor thus in question? I meane not so, your grace must pardon me. Thou art too familiar with that Mortimer, And by thy meanes is Gaueston exilde, But I would wish thee reconcile the lords, Or thou shalt nere be reconcild to me. Your highnes knowes, it lies not in my power. Away then, touch me not, come Gaueston. Villaine, tis thou that robst me of my lord. Madam, tis you that rob me of my lord. Speake not vnto her, let her droope and pine. Wherein my lord, haue I deserud these words? Witnesse the teares that Isabella sheds, Witnesse this hart, that sighing for thee breakes, How deare my lord is to poore Isabell.