Marlowe, Christopher · published 1594 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1593] (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 487 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
If you mistrust me, i'll be gone my lord. No, no, for if thou meanst to murder me, Thou wilt return again, and therefore stay. He sleeps. O let me not die, yet stay, O stay a while. How now my Lord. Something still busseth in mine ears, And tells me, if I sleep I never wake, This fear is that which makes me tremble thus, And therefore tell me, wherefore art thou come? To rid thee of thy life, Matrevis come, I am too weak and feeble to resist, Assist me sweet God, and receive my soul. Run for the table. O spare me, or dispatch me in a trice. So, lay the table down, and stamp his body. But not too hard, least that you bruise his body. I fear me that this cry will raise the town, And therefore let us take horse and away. Tell me sirs, was it not brave lie done? Excellent well, take this for thy reward, Come let us cast the body in the more, And bear the kings to Mortimer our lord, away. Is't done, Matrevis, and the murderer dead? I my good Lord, I would it were undone. Matrevis, if thou now growest penitent I'll be thy ghostly father, therefore choose, Whether thou wilt be secret in this, Or else die by the hand of Mortimer. Gurney my lord is fled, and will I fear, Betray us both, therefore let me sly. Fly to the Savages. I humbly thank your honour. As for myself, I stand as Ioues huge tree, And others are but shrubs compared to me, All tremble at my name, and I fear none, Let's see who dare impeach me for his death? A Mortimer, the king my son hath news, His father's dead, and we have murdered him. What if he have? the king is yet a child. ay, ay, but he tears his hair, and wrings his hands, And vows to be revenged upon us both, Into the council chamber he is gone, To crave the aid and succour of his peers, ay me, see where he comes, and they with him, Now Mortimer begins our tragedy. Fear not my lord, know that you are a king. Villain. How now my lord? Think not that I am frighted with thy words, My father's murdered through thy treachery, And thou shalt die, and on his mournful hearse, Thy hateful and accursed head shall lie, To witness to the world, that by thy means, His kingly body was too soon interred. Weep not sweet son. Forbid not me to weep, he was my father, And had you loved him half so well as I, You could not bear his death thus patiently, But you I fear, conspire with Mortimer. Why speak you not unto my lord the king? Because I think scorn to be accused, Who is the man dare say I murdered him?
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)
If you mistrust me, ile be gon my lord. No, no, for if thou meanst to murther me, Thou wilt returne againe, and therefore stay. He sleepes. O let me not die, yet stay, O stay a while. How now my Lorde. Something still busseth in mine eares, And tels me, if I sleepe I neuer wake, This feare is that which makes me tremble thus, And therefore tell me, wherefore art thou come? To rid thee of thy life, Matreuis come, I am too weake and feeble to resist, Assist me sweete God, and receiue my soule. Runne for the table. O spare me, or dispatche me in a trice. So, lay the table downe, and stampe his body. But not too hard, least that you bruse his body. I feare mee that this crie will raise the towne, And therefore let vs take horse and away. Tell me sirs, was it not braue lie done? Excellent well, take this for thy rewarde, Come let vs cast the body in the more, And beare the kings to Mortimer our lord, away. Ist done, Matreuis, and the murtherer dead? I my good Lord, I would it were vndone. Matreuis, if thou now growest penitent Ile be thy ghostly father, therefore choose, Whether thou wilt be secret in this, Or else die by the hand of Mortimer. Gurney my lord is fled, and will I feare, Betray vs both, therefore let me slie. Flie to the Sauages. I humblie thanke your honour. As for my selfe, I stand as Ioues huge tree, And others are but shrubs compard to me, All tremble at my name, and I feare none, Lets see who dare impeache me for his death? A Mortimer, the king my sonne hath news, His fathers dead, and we haue murdered him. What if he haue? the king is yet a childe. I, I, but he teares his haire, and wrings his handes, And vowes to be reuengd vpon vs both, Into the councell chamber he is gone, To craue the aide and succour of his peeres, Aye me, see where he comes, and they with him, Now Mortimer begins our tragedie. Feare not my lord, know that you are a king. Villaine. How now my lord? Thinke not that I am frighted with thy words, My father's murdered through thy treacherie, And thou shalt die, and on his mournefull hearse, Thy hatefull and accursed head shall lie, To witnesse to the world, that by thy meanes, His kingly body was too soone interrde. Weepe not sweete sonne. Forbid not me to weepe, he was my father, And had you lou'de him halfe so well as I, You could not beare his death thus patiently, But you I feare, conspirde with Mortimer. Why speake you not vnto my lord the king? Because I thinke scorne to be accusde, Who is the man dare say I murderedd him?