Marlowe, Christopher · published 1594 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1593] (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 493 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Traitor, in me my loving father speaks, And plainly saith, 'twas thou that murdredst him. But hath your grace no other proof than this? Yes, if this be the hand of Mortimer. False Gurney hath betrayed me and himself. I feared as much, murder cannot be hid. 'tis my hand, what gather you by this. That thither thou didst send a murderer. What murderer? bring forth the man I sent. A Mortimer, thou knowest that he is slain, And so shalt thou be too: why stays he here? Bring him unto a hurdle, drag him forth, Hang him I say, and set his quarters up, But bring his head back presently to me. For my sake sweet son pity Mortimer. Madam, entreat not, I will rather die, Then sue for life unto a paltry boy. Hence with the traitor, with the murderer. Base fortune, now I see, that in thy wheel There is a point, to which when men aspire, They tumble headlong down, that point I touched, And seeing there was no place to mount up higher, Why should I grieve at my declining fall, Farewell fair Queen, weep not for Mortimer, That scorns the world, and as a traveler, Goes to discover countries yet unknown. What, suffer you the traitor to delay? As thou receivedst thy life from me, Spill not the blood of gentle Mortimer. This argues, that you spilled my father's blood, Else would you not entreat for Mortimer. I spill his blood? no. I madam you, for so the rumor runs. That rumor is untrue, for loving thee, Is this report raised on poor Isabell. I do not think her so unnatural. My lord, I fear me it will prove too true. Mother, you are suspected for his death, And therefore we commit you to the Tower, Till further trial may be made thereof, If you be guilty, though I be your son, Think not to find me slack or pitiful. Nay, to my death, for too long have I lived, whenas my son thinks to abridge my days. Away with her, her words enforce these tears, And I shall pity her if she speak again. Shall I not mourn for my beloved lord? And with the rest accompany him to his grave. Thus madam, 'tis the kings will you shall hence. He hath forgotten me, stay, I am his mother. That boots not, therefore gentle madam go. Then come sweet death, and rid me of this grief. My lord, here is the head of Mortimer. Go fetch my father's hearse, where it shall lie, And bring my funeral robes: accursed head, Could I have ruled thee then, as I do now, Thou hadst not hatched this monstrous treachery? Here comes the hearse, help me to mourn my lords, Sweet father here, unto thy murdered ghost, I offer up this wicked traitor's head, And let these tears distilling from mine eyes, Be witness of my grief and innocency.
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)
Traitor, in me my louing father speakes, And plainely saith, twas thou that murdredst him. But hath your grace no other proofe then this? Yes, if this be the hand of Mortimer. False Gurney hath betraide me and himselfe. I feard as much, murther cannot be hid. Tis my hand, what gather you by this. That thither thou didst send a murtherer. What murtherer? bring foorth the man I sent. A Mortimer, thou knowest that he is slaine, And so shalt thou be too: why staies he heere? Bring him vnto a hurdle, drag him foorth, Hang him I say, and set his quarters vp, But bring his head back presently to me. For my sake sweete sonne pittie Mortimer. Madam, intreat not, I will rather die, Then sue for life vnto a paltrie boye. Hence with the traitor, with the murderer. Base fortune, now I see, that in thy wheele There is a point, to which when men aspire, They tumble hedlong downe, that point I touchte, And seeing there was no place to mount vp higher, Why should I greeue at my declining fall, Farewell faire Queene, weepe not for Mortimer, That scornes the world, and as a traueller, Goes to discouer countries yet vnknowne. What, suffer you the traitor to delay? As thou receiuedst thy life from me, Spill not the bloud of gentle Mortimer. This argues, that you spilt my fathers bloud, Els would you not intreate for Mortimer. I spill his bloud? no. I madam you, for so the rumor runnes. That rumor is vntrue, for louing thee, Is this report raisde on poore Isabell. I doe not thinke her so vnnaturall. My lord, I feare me it will prooue too true. Mother, you are suspected for his death, And therefore we commit you to the Tower, Till further triall may be made thereof, If you be guiltie, though I be your sonne, Thinke not to finde me slack or pitifull. Nay, to my death, for too long haue I liued, When as my sonne thinkes to abridge my daies. Awaye with her, her wordes inforce these teares, And I shall pitie her if she speake againe. Shall I not moorne for my beloued lord? And with the rest accompanie him to his graue. Thus madam, tis the kings will you shall hence. He hath forgotten me, stay, I am his mother. That bootes not, therefore gentle madam goe. Then come sweete death, and rid me of this greefe. My lord, here is the head of Mortimer. Goe fetche my fathers hearse, where it shall lie, And bring my funerall robes: accursed head, Could I haue rulde thee then, as I do now, Thou hadst not hatcht this monstrous treacherie? Heere comes the hearse, helpe me to moorne my lords, Sweete father heere, vnto thy murdered ghost, I offer vp this wicked traitors head, And let these teares distilling from mine eyes, Be witnesse of my greefe and innocencie.