Marlowe, Christopher · published 1594 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1593] (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men T38 Death, parting and grief at court typicality 0.87 · 504 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
Call me not lord, Away, out of my sight, ah pardon me, Grief makes me lunatic, Let not that Mortimer protect my son, More safety is there in a tiger's jaws, This his embracements, bear this to the queen, Wet with my tears, and dried again with sighs, If with the sight thereof she be not moved, Return it back and dip it in my blood, Commend me to my son, and bid him rule Better than I, yet how have I transgressed, Unless it be with too much clemency? And thus, most humbly do we take our leave. Farewell, I know the next news that they bring, Will be my death, and welcome shall it be, To wretched men death is felicity. another post, what news brings he? Such news as I expect, come Bartley, come, And tell thy message to my naked breast. My lord, think not a thought so villainous Can harbour in a man of noble birth. To do your highness service and devoir, And save you from your foes, Bartley would die. My lord, the counsel of the Queen commands, That I resign my charge. And who must keep me now, must you my lord? ay, my most gracious lord, so 'tis decreed. By Mortimer, whose name is written here, Well may I rent his name, that rends my heart, This poor revenge hath something eased my mind, So may his limbs be torn, as is this paper, Hear me immortal love, and grant it too. Your grace must hence with me to Bartley straight. Whether you will, all places are alike, And every earth is fit for burial. Favour him my lord, as much as lieth in you. even so betide my soul as I use him. Mine enemy hath pitied my estate, And that's the cause that I am now removed. And thinks your grace that Bartley will be cruel? I know not, but of this am I assured, That death ends all, and I can die but once, Leicester, farewell. Not yet my lord, i'll bear you on your way. Fair Isabell, now have we our desire, The proud corrupters of the light-brained king, Have done their homage to the lofty gallows, And he himself lies in captivity, Be ruled by me, and we will rule the realm, In any case, take heed of childish fear, For now we hold an old Wolf by the ears, That if he flip will seize upon us both, And gripe the sorer being gripped himself, Think therefore madam that imports as much, To erect your son withal the speed we may, And that I be protector over him, For our behoof will bear the greater sway whenas a king's name shall be under writ. Sweet Mortimer, the life of Isabell, Be thou persuaded, that I love thee well, And therefore so the prince my son be safe, Whom I esteem as dear as these mine eyes, Conclude against his father what thou wilt, And I myself will willingly subscribe.
seed 43: T44 · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Call me not lorde, Away, out of my sight, ah pardon me, Greefe makes me lunatick, Let not that Mortimer protect my sonne, More safetie is there in a Tigers iawes, This his imbrasements, beare this to the queene, Wet with my teares, and dried againe with sighes, If with the sight thereof she be not mooued, Returne it backe and dip it in my bloud, Commend me to my sonne, and bid him rule Better then I, yet how haue I transgrest, Vnlesse it be with too much clemencie? And thus, most humbly do we take our leaue. Farewell, I know the next newes that they bring, Will be my death, and welcome shall it be, To wretched men death is felicitie. An other poast, what newes bringes he? Such newes as I expect, come Bartley, come, And tell thy message to my naked brest. My lord, thinke not a thought so villanous Can harbor in a man of noble birth. To do your highnes seruice and deuoire, And saue you from your foes, Bartley would die. My lorde, the counsell of the Queene commaunds, That I resigne my charge. And who must keepe mee now, must you my lorde? I, my most gratious lord, so tis decreed. By Mortimer, whose name is written here, Well may I rent his name, that rends my hart, This poore reuenge hath something easd my minde, So may his limmes be torne, as is this paper, Heare me immortall loue, and graunt it too. Your grace must hence with mee to Bartley straight. Whether you will, all places are alike, And euery earth is fit for buriall. Fauor him my lord, as much as lieth in you. Euen so betide my soule as I vse him. Mine enemie hath pitied my estate, And thats the cause that I am now remooude. And thinkes your grace that Bartley will bee cruell? I know not, but of this am I assured, That death ends all, and I can die but once, Leicester, farewell. Not yet my lorde, ile beare you on your waye. Faire Isabell, now haue we our desire, The proud corrupters of the light-brainde king, Haue done their homage to the lostie gallowes, And he himselfe lies in captiuitie, Be rulde by me, and we will rule the realme, In any case, take heed of childish feare, For now we hould an old Wolfe by the eares, That if he flip will seaze vpon vs both, And gripe the sorer being gript himselfe, Thinke therefore madam that imports as much, To erect your sonne withall the speed we may, And that I be protector ouer him, For our behoofe will beare the greater sway When as a kings name shall be vnder writ. Sweet Mortimer, the life of Isabell, Be thou perswaded, that I loue thee well, And therefore so the prince my sonne be safe, Whome I esteeme as deare as these mine eyes, Conclude against his father what thou wilt, And I my selfe will willinglie subscribe.