3 Henry the Sixth (The True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York and the Good King Henry the Sixth) · chunk 2 of 34
Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William · published 1595 · first performed or written c.1591 (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men T43 York and Lancaster: dynastic claims and typicality 0.79 · 481 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T43: henry, king, richard, warwick, york, edward, father, duke, crown, son.
Patience is for pultrouns such as he He durst not sit there had your father lived? My gracious Lord: here in the Parliament, Let us assail the family of York. Well hast thou spoken cozen, be it so. O know you not the City favours them, And they have troops of soldiers at their beck? But when the D. is slain, they'll quickly sly. Far be it from the thoughts of Henry's heart, To make a shambles of the parliament house. cozen of Exeter, words, frowns, and threats, Shall be the wars that Henry means to use. Thou facetious duke of York, descend my throne, I am thy sovereign. Thou art deceived: I am thine. For shame come down he made thee D. of York. TTwas mine inheritance as the kingdom is. Thy father was a traitor to the crown. Exeter thou art a traitor to the crown. In following this usurping Henry. Whom should he follow but his natural king. TRUE Clif and that is Richard Duke of York. And shall I stand while thou sittest in my throne? Content thyself it must and shall be so. Be Duke of Lancaster, let him be king. Why? he is both king & Duke of Lancaster, And that the Earl of Westmoreland shall maintain. And Warwick shall disprove it. You forget That we are those that chaste you from the field And slew your father, and with colours spread, Marched through the City to the pallas gates. No Warwick I remember it to my grief, And by his soul thou and thy house shall rue it. Plantagenet of thee and of thy sons, Thy kinsmen and thy friends, I'll have more lives, Then drops of blood were in my father's veins. Urge it no more, least in revenge thereof, I send thee Warwick such a messenger, As shall revenge his death before I stir. Poor Clifford, how I scorn thy worthless threats Will ye we show our title to the crown, Or else our swords shall plead it in the field? What title hast thou traitor to the Crown? Thy father was as thou art Duke of York, Thy grandfather Roger Mortimer earl of March, I am the son of Henry the Fift who tamed the French, And made the Dolphin stoop, and seized upon their Towns and provinces. Talk not of France since thou hast lost it all. the Lord protector lost it and not I, When I was crowned I was but nine months' old. You are old enough now and yet me thinks you lose, Father tear the Crown from the usurpers head▪ Do so sweet father, set it on your head. Good brother as thou lov'st & honour'st arms, Let's fight it out and not stand cavilling thus. Sound drum's and trumpets & the king will sly. Peace sons: Peace thou and give king Henry leave to speak.
Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William
Publication year (edition)
1595
First performance / composition (Annals)
c.1591
First performance (BritDrama)
1591 [1587-1592]
Company (BritDrama)
Pembroke's Men
Genre (British Drama)
history
Play type
Adult Professional;Professional
Edition / TCP / DEEP
edition 265 · TCP A10726 · DEEP 212
Edition role
Other edition — placed after the fit, excluded from the main statistics
Position
nodes 56–114 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 2 of 34 in this edition
Length
481 words · 612 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T43 — York and Lancaster: dynastic claims and conflictcross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.793 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T50 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Patience is for pultrouns ſuch as he He durſt not ſit there had your father liu'd? My gratious Lord: here in the Parlement, Let vs aſſaile the familie of Yorke. Well haſt thou ſpoken coſen, be it ſo. O know you not the Cittie fauours them, And they haue troopes of ſoldiers at their becke? But when the D. is ſlaine, theile quicklie ſlie. Far be it from the thoughtes of Henries hart, To make a ſhambles of the parlement houſe. Coſ of Exeter, words, frownes, and threats, Shall be the warres that Henrie meanes to vſe. Thou factious duke of Yorke, deſcend my throne, I am thy ſoueraigne. Thou art deceiu'd: I am thine. For ſhame come downe he made thee D. of York. Twas mine inheritance as the kingdome is. Thy father was a traytor to the crowne. Exeter thou art a traitor to the crowne. In following this vſurping Henry. Whom ſhould he follow but his naturall king. Tue Clif and that is Richard Duke of Yorke. And ſhall I ſtande while thou ſitteſt in my throne? Content thy ſelfe it muſt and ſhall be ſo. Be Duke of Lancaſter, let him be king. Why? he is both king & Duke of Lancaſter, And that the Earle of Weſtmerland ſhall mainetaine. And Warwike ſhall diſproue it. You forget That we are thoſe that chaſte you from the field And ſlew your father, and with colours ſpred, Marcht through the Cittie to the pallas gates. No Warwike I remember it to my griefe, And by his ſoule thou and thy houſe ſhall rew it. Plantagenet of thee and of thy ſonnes, Thy kinſmen and thy friendes, Ile haue more liues, Then drops of bloud were in my fathers vaines. Vrge it no more, leaſt in reuenge thereof, I ſend thee Warwike ſuch a meſſenger, As ſhall reueng his death before I ſtirre. Poore Clifford, how I skorn thy worthles threats Wil ye we ſhew our title to the crowne, Or elſe our ſwords ſhall plead it in the field? What title haſte thou traitor to the Crowne? Thy father was as thou art Duke of Yorke, Thy grandfather Roger Mortmer earle of March, I am the ſonne of Henrie the Fift who tamde the French, And made the Dolphin ſtoope, and ſeazd vpon their Townes and prouinces. Talke not of France ſince thou haſt loſt it all. he Lord protector loſt it and not I, When I was crownd I was but nine months old. You are olde enough now and yet me thinkes you loſe, Father teare the Crowne from the Vſurpers head▪ Do ſo ſweet father, ſet it on your head. Good brother as thou lou'ſt & honorſt armes, Lets fight it out and not ſtand cauilling thus. Sound drums and trumpets & the king will ſly. Peace ſonnes: Peace thou and giue king Henry leaue to ſpeake.