Marlowe, Christopher · published 1596 · first performed or written 1593 [Jan 26; Jan 30] (Annals) tragedy · Derby's (Strange's) Men T15 Friars and holy orders in plot typicality 0.82 · 487 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T15: friar, lord, holy, friars, robin, peggy, lacie, angelo, love, nun.
My brother Cardenall slain and I alive? O words of power to kill a thousand men. Come let us away and levy men, 'tis war that must assuage this tyrants pride. My Lord, hear me but speak. I am a Friar of the order of the Jacobins, That for my conscience sake will kill the King. But what doth move thee above the rest to do the deed? O my Lord, I have been a great sinner in my days, and the deed is meritorious. But how wilt thou get opportunity? Tush my Lord, let me alone for that. friar come with me, We will go talk more of this within. Brother of Navarre, I sorrow much, That ever I was proved your enemy, And that the sweet and princely mind you bear, Was ever troubled with injurious wars: I vow as I am lawful King of France, To recompense your reconciled love, With all the honours and affections, That ever I vouchsafed my dearest friends. It is enough if that Navarre may be, Esteemed faithful to the King of France: Whose service he may still command till death. Thanks to my Kingly Brother of Navarre. Then here we'll lie before Lutetia walls, girding this strumpet City with our siege, Till surfeiting with our afflicting arms, She cast her hateful stomach to the earth. And it please your Majesty here is a Friar of the order of the Iacobins, sent from the President of Paris, that craves access unto your grace. Let him come in. I like not this friars look. 'twere not amiss my Lord, if he were searched. Sweet Epernoune, our Friars are holy men, And will not offer violence to their King, For all the wealth and treasure of the world, Friar, thou dost acknowledge me thy King: I my good Lord, and will die therein. Then come thou near, and tell what news thou bringst. My Lord, the President of Paris greets your grace, and sends his duty by these speedy lines, humbly craving your gracious reply. I'll read them Friar, and then I'll answer thee. Sancte Iacobus, now have mercy upon me. O my Lord, let him live a while. No, let the villain die, and feel in hell, just torments for his treachery. What, is your highness hurt? Yes Navarre, but not to death I hope. God shield your grace from such a sudden death: Go call a surgeon hither straight. What irreligious Pagans parts be these, Of such as hold them of the holy church? Take hence that damned villain from my sight. Ah, had your highness let him live, We might have punished him to his deserts. Sweet Epernoune all Rebels under heaven, shall take example by their punishment, how they bear arms against their sovereign. Go call the English Agent hither straight, I'll send my sister England news of this, And give her warning of her treacherous foes.
seed 43: T19 · seed 44: T20 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
My brother Carden all slaine and I aliue? O wordes of power to kill a thousand men. Come let vs away and leauy men, Tis warre that must asswage this tyrantes pride. My Lord, heare me but speak. I am a Frier of the order of the Iacobyns, That for my conscience sake will kill the King. But what doth moue thee aboue the rest to doe the deed? O my Lord, I haue beene a great sinner in my dayes, and the deed is meritorious. But how wilt thou get opportunitye? Tush my Lord, let me alone for that. Frier come with me, We will goe talke more of this within. Brother of Nauarre, I sorrow much, That euer I was prou'd your enemy, And that the sweet and princely minde you beare, Was euer troubled with iniurious warres: I vow as I am lawfull King of France, To recompence your reconciled loue, With all the honors and affections, That euer I vouchsafte my dearest freends. It is enough if that Nauarre niay be, Esteemed faithfull to the King of France: Whose seruice he may still commaund till death. Thankes to my Kingly Brother of Nauarre. Then heere wee'llye before Lucrecia walles, Girting this strumpet Cittie with our siege, Till surfeiting with our afflicting armes, She cast her hatefull stomack to the earth. And it please your Maiestie heere is a Frier of the order of the Iacobins, sent from the President of Paris, that craues accesse vnto your grace. Let him come in. I like not this Friers look. Twere not amisse my Lord, if he were searcht. Sweete Epernoune, our Friers are holy men, And will not offer violence to their King, For all the wealth and treasure of the world, Frier, thou dost acknowledge me thy King: I my good Lord, and will dye therein. Then come thou neer, and tell what newes thou bringst. My Lord, the President of Paris greetes your grace, and sends his dutie by these speedye lines, humblye crauing your gracious reply. Ile read them Frier, and then Ile answere thee. Sancte Iacobus, now haue mercye vpon me. O my Lord, let him liue a while. No, let the villaine dye, and feele in hell, iust torments for his trechery. What, is your highnes hurt? Yes Nauarre, but not to death I hope. God shield your grace from such a sodaine death: Goe call a surgeon hether strait. What irreligeous Pagans partes be these, Of such as holde them of the holy church? Take hence that damned villaine from my sight. Ah, had your highnes let him liue, We might haue punisht him to his deserts. Sweet Epernoune all Rebels vnder heauen, shall take example by their punishment, how they beare armes against their soueraigne. Goe call the English Agent hether strait, Ile send my sister England newes of this, And giue her warning of her trecherous foes.