3 Henry the Sixth (The True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York and the Good King Henry the Sixth) · chunk 10 of 34
Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William · published 1595 · first performed or written c.1591 (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men unassigned nearest T43 York and Lancaster: dynastic claims and · 486 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T43: henry, king, richard, warwick, york, edward, father, duke, crown, son.
I cannot weep, for all my breasts moisture Scarce serves to quench my furnace burning heart: I cannot joy till this white rose be died, Even in the heart blood of the house of Lancaster. Richard▪ I bore thy name, and I'll revenge thy death, Or die myself in seeking of revenge. His name that valiant Duke hath left with thee, His chair and Dukedom that remains for me. Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun. For chair, and dukedom, Throne and kingdom say: For either that is thine, or else thou wert not his? How now fair Lords: what sare? what news abroad? Ah Warwick? should we report the baleful N●●●●, 〈◊〉 at each words deliverance stab poinyardes In our flesh till all were told, the words would add More 〈◊〉 than the wounds, Ah valiant Lord the Duke of York is slain. Ah Warwick Warwick, that Plantagenet, Which held thee dear: I, even an his soul's redemption, Is by the ●●●●ne L. Clifford, done to death. Ten days a go I drowned those news in tears. And now to add more measure to your woes, I come to tell you things since then befallen. After the bloody fray at Wakefield fought, Where your brave father breathed his latest gasp, Tidings as swiflie as the post could run, Was brought me of your loss, and his departure. I then in London keeper of the King, Mustered my Soldiers, gathered flocks of friends, And very well appointed as I thought, Marched to saint Albon to intercept the Queen, Bearing the King in my behalf along, For by my scouts I was advertised, That she was coming, with a full intent To dash your late decree in parliament, Touching king Henry's heirs and your succession. Short tale to make, we at Saint Albon met, Our battle's joined, and both sides fiercely fought. But whether ttwas the coldness of the king, He looked full gently on his warlike Queen, That robbed my soldiers of their heated spleen. Or whether ttwas report of his success, Or more than common fear of Clifford's rigour, Who thunders to his captains blood and death, I cannot tell. But to conclude with truth, Their weapons like to lightnings went and came. Our soldiers like the might Owls lazy flight, Or like an idle thresher with a flail, Fel gently down as if they smote their friends. I cheered them up with justice of the cause, With promise of high pay and great rewards, But all in vain, they had no hearts to fight, Nor we in them no hope to win the day, So that We fled. The king unto the Queen, Lord George your brother, Norfolk, and myself, In haste, post haste, are come to join with you, For in the marches here we heard you were, Making another head to fight again.
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)
I cannot weepe, for all my breaſts moiſture Scarſe ſerues to quench my furnac burning hart: I cannot ioie till this white roſe be dide, Euen in the hart bloud of the houſe of Lancaſter. Richard▪ I bare thy name, and Ile reuenge thy death, Or die my ſelfe in ſeeking of reuenge. His name that valiant Duke hath lft with thee, His chaire and Dukedome that remaines for me. Nay, if thou be that princely Eagles bird, Shew thy deſcent by gazing gainſt the sunne. For chaire, and dukedome, Throne and kingdome ſaie: For ether that is thine, or elſe thou wert not his? How now faire Lords: what ſare? what newes abroad? Ah Warwike? ſhould we report the balefull N, at each words deliuerance ſtab poinyardes In our fleſh till all were told, the words would adde More then the wounds, Ah valiant Lord the Duke of Yorke is ſlaine. Ah Warwike Warwike, that Plantagenet, Which held thee deere: I, euen an his ſoules redemption, Is by the ne L. Clifford, done to death. Ten dais a go I drownd thoſe newes in teares. And now to adde more meaſure to your woes, I come to tell you things ſince then befalne. After the bloudie fraie at Wakefield fought, Where your braue father breath'd his lateſt gaſpe, Tidings as ſwiflie as the poſt could runne, Was brought me of your loſſe, and his departure. I then in London keeper of the King, Muſtred my ſoulders, gathered flockes of friends, And verie vvell appointed as I thought, Marcht to ſaint Albons to entercept the Queene, Bearing the King in my behalfe along, For by my ſcoutes I was aduertiſed, That ſhe was comming, with a full intent To daſh your late decree in parliament, Touching king Henries heires and your ſucceſſion. Short tale to make, we at Saint Albons met, Our battels ioinde, and both ſides fiercelie fought. But whether twas the coldneſſe of the king, He lookt full gentlie on his warlike Queene, That robde my ſouldiers of their heated ſpleene. Or whether twas report of his ſucceſſe, Or more then common feare of Cliffords rigor, Who thunders to his captaines bloud and death, I cannot tell. But to conclude with truth, Their weapons like to lightnings went and came. Our ſouldiers like the might Owles laſie flight, Or like an idle threſher with a laile, Fel gentlie downe as if they ſmote their friends. I cheerd them vp with iuſtice of the cauſe, With promiſe of hie paie and great rewardes, But all in vaine, they had no harts to fight, Nor we in them no hope to win the daie, So that We fled. The king vnto the Queene, Lord George your brother, Norffolke, and my ſelfe, In haſt, poſt haſt, are come to ioine with you, For in the marches here we heard you were, Making another head to fight againe.