3 Henry the Sixth (The True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York and the Good King Henry the Sixth) · chunk 6 of 34
Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William · published 1595 · first performed or written c.1591 (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 506 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
In vain thou speakest poor boy: my father's Blood hath stopped the passage where thy words should enter. Then let my father's blood open it again? he is a Man, and Clifford cope with him. Had I thy brethren here, their lives and thine Were not revenge sufficient for me. Or should I dig up thy forefather's graves, And hang their rotten coffins up in chains, It could not slake mine ire, nor case my heart. The sight of any of the house of York, Is as a fury to torment my soul. Therefore till I root out that cursed line And leave not one on earth, I le live in hell therefore. Oh let me pray, before I take my death. To thee I pray: Sweet Clifford pity me. I, such piteous my rapiers point affords. I never did thee hurt, wherefore wilt thou kill me? Thy father hath. But ttwas ere I was borne▪ Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me, Lest in revenge thereof, 〈◊〉 God is just▪ He be as miserably slain as I. Oh, let me live in prison all my days, And when I give occasion of offence, Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. No cause? Thy Father slew my father, therefore Die. Plantagenet I come Plantagenet, And this thy sons blood cleaving to my blade, Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood Congealed with his, do make me wipe off both. Ah York, post to thy castle, save thy life, The goal is lost thou house of Lancaster, Thrice happy chance is it for thee and thine, That heaven abridged my days and calls me hence, But God knows what chance hath betide my sons: But this I know they have demeaned themselves, Like men borne to renown by life or death: Three times this day came Richard to my sight, And cried courage Father: Victory or death. And twice so oft came Edward to my view, With purple Faulchen painted to the hilts, In blood of those whom he had slaughtered. Oh hark, I hear the drums? No way to fly: No way to save my life? And here I stay: And here my life must end. Come bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland, I dare your quenchless fury to more blood: This is the But, and this abides your shot. Yield to our mercies proud Plantagenet. I, to such mercy as his ruthful arm With down right payment lent unto my father, Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noon tide prick. My ashes like the Phoenix may bring forth A bird that will revenge it on you all, And in that hope I cast mine eyes to heaven, Scorning what ere you can afflict me with: Why stay you Lords? what, multitudes and fear? So cowards fight when they can fly no longer: So Doves do peck the ravens piercing talents: So desperate thieves all hopeless of their lives, Breath out invectives 'gainst the officers.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
In vaine thou ſpeakeſt poore boy: my fathers Bloud hath ſtopt the paſſage where thy wordes ſhoulde enter. Then let my fathers blood ope it againe? he is a Man, and Clifford cope with him. Had I thy brethren here, their liues and thine Were not reuenge ſufficient for me. Or ſhould I dig vp thy forefathers graues, And hang their rotten coffins vp in chaines, It could not ſlake mine ire, nor caſe my hart. The ſight of anie of the houſe of Yorke, Is as a furie to torment my ſoule. Therefore till I root out that curſſed line And leaue not one on earth, I le liue in hell therefore. Oh let me praie, before I take my death. To thee I praie: Sweet Clifford pittie me. I, ſuch pitti s my rapiers point affords. I neuer did thee hurt, wherefore wilt thou kill mee? Thy father hath. But twas ere I was borne▪ Thou haſt one ſonne, for his ſake pittie me, Leaſt in reuenge thereof, God is iuſt▪ He be as miſerablie ſlaine as I. Oh, let me liue in priſon all my daies, And when I giue occaſion of offence, Then let me die, for now thou haſt no cauſe. No cauſe? Thy Father ſlew my father, therefore Die. Plantagenet I come Plantagenet, And this thy ſonnes bloud cleauing to my blade, Shall ruſt vpon my weapon, till thy bloud Congeald with his, doe make me wipe off both. Ah Yorke, poſt to thy caſtell, ſaue thy life, The goale is loſt thou houſe of Lancaſter, Thriſe happie chance is it for thee and thine, That heauen abridgde my daies and cals me hence, But God knowes what chance hath betide my ſonnes: But this I know they haue demeand themſelues, Like men borne to renowne by life or death: Three times this daie came Richard to my ſight, And cried courage Father: Victorie or death. And twiſe ſo oft came Edward to my view, With purple Faulchen painted to the hilts, In bloud of thoſe whom he had ſlaghtered. Oh harke, I heare the drums? No waie to flie: No waie to ſaue my life? And heere I ſtaie: And heere my life muſt end. Come bloudie Clifford, rough Northumberland, I dare your quenchleſſe rie to more bloud: This is the But, and this abides your ſhot. Yeeld to our mercies proud Plantagenet. I, to ſuch mercie as his ruthfull arme With downe right paiment lent vnto my father, Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his carre, And made an euening at the noone tide pricke. My aſhes like the Phoenix maie bring forth A bird that will reuenge it on you all, And in that hope I caſt mine eies to heauen, Skorning what ere you can afflict me with: Why ſtaie you Lords? what, multitudes and feare? So cowards fight when they can flie no longer: So Doues doe pecke the Rauens pierſing tallents: So deſperate theeues all hopeleſſe of their liues, Breath out inuectiues gainſt the officers.