Marlowe, Christopher · published 1596 · first performed or written 1593 [Jan 26; Jan 30] (Annals) tragedy · Derby's (Strange's) Men T31 Popes, cardinals and the crown typicality 0.84 · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T31: cardinal, pope, king, lord, majesty, holy, rome, france, church, lords.
My Lord, see where she comes, as if she drooped to hear these news. And let her droop, my heart is light enough. Mother, how like you this device of mine? I slew the Guise, because I would be King. King, why so thou wert before. Pray God thou be a King now this is done. Nay he was King and countermanded me, But now I will be King and rule myself, And make the Guisians stoop that are alive. I cannot speak for grief, when thou wast borne, I would that I had murdered thee my son. My son: thou art a changeling, not my son. I curse thee and exclaim thee miscreant, Traitor to God, and to the realm of France. Cry out, exclaim, howl till thy throat be hoarse, The Guise is slain, and I rejoice therefore: And now will I to arms, come Epernoune: And let her grieve her heart out if she will. Away, leave me alone to meditate, Sweet Guise, would he had died so thou wert here: To whom shall I bewray my secrets now, Or who will help to build Religion? The Protestants will glory and insult, Wicked Navarre will get the crown of France, The Popedom cannot stand, all goes to wrack. And all for thee my Guise, what may I do? But sorrow seize upon my toiling soul, For since the Guise is dead, I will not live. Murder me not, I am a cardinal. Wert thou the Pope thou mightst not scape from us. What will you file your hands with Churchmen's blood? Shed your blood, O Lord no: for we intend to strangle you. Then there is no remedy but I must die. No remedy, therefore prepare yourself. Yet lives my brother Duke Dumaine, and many more: To revenge our deaths upon that cursed King. Upon whose heart may all the furies gripe, And with their paws drench his black soul in hell. Yours my Lord Cardinal, you should have said. So, pluck amain, he is hard hearted, therefore pull with violence. Come take him away. My noble brother murdered by the King, Oh what may I do, for to revenge thy death? The king's alone, it cannot satisfy. Sweet Duke of Guise our prop to lean upon, Now thou art dead, here is no stay for us: I am thy brother, and i'll revenge thy death, And root Valois his line from forth of France, And beat proud Bourbon to his native home. That basely seeks to join with such a King. Whose murderous thoughts will be his overthrow. He willed the Governor of Orleans in his name, That I with speed should have been put to death. But that's prevented, for to end his life. His life, and all those traitors to the Church of Rome, That durst attempt to murder noble Guise. My Lord, I come to bring you news, that your brother the Cardinal of Lorraine by the king's consent is lately strangled unto death.
seed 43: T38 · seed 44: T38 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
My Lord, see where she comes, as if she droupt to heare these newes. And let her droup, my heart is light enough. Mother, how like you this deuice of mine? I slew the Guise, because I would be King. King, why so thou wert before. Pray God thou be a King now this is done. Nay he was King and countermanded me, But now I will be King and rule my selfe, And make the Guisians stoup that are aliue. I cannot speak for greefe, when thou wast borne, I would that I had murdered thee my sonne. My sonne: thou art a changeling, not my sonne. I curse thee and exclaime thee miscreant, Traitor to God, and to the realme of France. Cry out, exclaime, houle till thy throat be hoarce, The Guise is slaine, and I reioyce therefore: And now will I to armes, come Epernoune: And let her greeue her heart out if she will. A way, leaue me alone to meditate, Sweet Guise, would he had died so thou wert heere: To whom shall I bewray my secrets now, Or who will helpe to builde Religion? The Protestants will glory and insulte, Wicked Nauarre will get the crowne of France, The Popedome cannot stand, all goes to wrack. And all for thee my Guise, what may I doe? But sorrow seaze vpon my toyling soule, For since the Guise is dead, I will not liue. Murder me not, I am a Cardenall. Wert thou the Pope thou mightst not scape from vs. What will you fyle your handes with Churchmens bloud? Shed your bloud, O Lord no: for we entend to strangle you. Then there is no remedye but I must dye. No remedye, therefore prepare your selfe. Yet liues my brother Duke Dumaiue, and many moe: To reuenge our deaths vpon that cursed King. Vpon whose heart may all the furies gripe, And with their pawes drench his black soule in hell. Yours my Lord Cardinall, you should haue saide. So, pluck amaine, he is hard hearted, therfore pull with violence. Come take him away. My noble brother murthered by the King, Oh what may I doe, for to reuengethy death? The Kingsalone, it cannot satisfie. Sweet Duke of Guise our prop to leane vpon, Now thou art dead, heere is no stay for vs: I am thy brother, and ile reuenge thy death, And roote Valoys his line from forth of France, And beate proud Burbon to his natiue home. That basely seekes to ioyne with such a King. Whose murderous thoughts will be his ouerthrow. Hee wild the Gouernour of Orleance in his name, That I with speed should haue beene put to death. But thats preuented, for to end his life. His life, and all those traitors to the Church of Rome, That durst attempt to murder noble Guise. My Lord, I come to bring you newes, that your brother the Cardinall of Loraine by the Kings consent is lately strangled vnto death.