3 Henry the Sixth (The True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York and the Good King Henry the Sixth) · chunk 20 of 34
Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William · published 1595 · first performed or written c.1591 (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men T45 Widows, wooing and remarriage typicality 0.86 · 488 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T45: widow, widows, hoord, master, gentlemen, wife, randalls, wit, mistress, married.
Be pitiful then dread L. and grant it them. I'll tell thee how these lands are to be got. So shall you bind me to your highness service. What service wilt thou do me if I grant it them? Even what your highness shall command. Naic then widow I'll warrant you all your Husband's lands, if you grant to do what he Commands, Fight close or in good faith You catch a clap. Nay I sear her not unless she fall. Marie godsforbot man, for he'll take vantage then. Why stops my Lord, shall I not know my task? An easy task, 'tis but to love a king. That's soon perfounde, because I am a subject. Why then thy hushandes' lands I freely give thee. I take my leave with many thousand thanks. The match is made, she seals it with a curtsy. Stay widow stare, what love dost thou think I sue so much to get? My humble service, such as subjects owes and the laws commands. No by my troth, I meant no such love, But to tell thee the troth, I aim to lie with thee. To tell you plain my Lord, I had rather lie in prison. Why then thou canst not get thy husbands lands. Then mine honesty shall be my dower, For by that loss I will not purchase them. Herein thou wrong'st thy children mightily. Herein your highness wrongs both them and Me, but mighty Lord this merry inclination Agrees not with the sadness of my suit. Please it your highness to dismiss me either with I or no. I, if thou say I to my request, No, if thousaie no to my demand. Then no my Lord, my suit is at an end. The widow likes him not, she bends the brow. Why he is the bluntest wooer in christendome. Her looks are all replete with majesty, One way or other she is for a king, And she shall be my love or else my Queen. Say that king Edward took thee for his Queen. 'tis better said then done, my gracious Lord, I am a subject sit to jest withal, But far unfit to be a Sovereign. Sweet widow, by my state I swear, I speak No more than what my heart intends, And that is to enjoy thee for my love. And that is more than I will yield unto, I know I am too bad to be your Queen, And yet too good to be your Concubine. You cavil widow, I did mean my Queen. Your grace would be loath my sons should call you father. No more than when my daughters call thee Mother. Thou art a widow and thou hast some children, And by God's mother I being but a bachelor Have other some Why 'tis a happy thing To be the father of many children. Argue no more, for thou shalt be my Queen.
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 1131–1187 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 20 of 34 in this edition
Length
488 words · 615 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T45 — Widows, wooing and remarriagecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.860 (cosine to the topic centroid) · placed after the fit (approximate_predict), not counted in the topic statistics
Other seeds
seed 43: T40 · seed 44: T40 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Be pittifull then dread L. and grant it them. Ile tell thee how theſe lands are to be got. So ſhall you bind me to your highneſſe ſeruice. What ſeruice wilt thou doe me if I grant it them? Euen what your highneſſe ſhall command. Naic then widow Ile warrant you all your Husbands lands, if you grant to do what he Commands, Fight cloſe or in good faith You catch a clap. Naie I ſeare her not vnleſſe ſhe fall. Marie godsforbot man, for heele take vantage then. Why ſtops my Lord, ſhall I not know my taske? An eaſie taske, tis but to loue a king. Thats ſoone perfounde, becauſe I am a ſubiect. Why then thy hushandes landes I freelie giue thee. I take my leaue with manie thouſand thankes. The match is made, ſhee ſeales it with a curſie. Staie widdow ſtare, what loue doſt thou thinke I ſue ſo much to get? My humble ſeruice, ſuch as ſubiects owes and the lawes commands. No by my troth, I meant no ſuch loue, But to tell thee the troth, I aime to lie with thee. To tell you plaine my Lord, I had rather lie in priſon. Why then thou canſt not get thy husbandes lands. Then mine honeſtie ſhall be my dower, For by that loſſe I will not purchaſe them. Herein thou wrongſt thy children mightilie. Heerein your highneſſe wrongs both them and Me, but mightie Lord this merrie inclination Agrees not with the ſadneſſe of my ſute. Pleaſe it your highnes to diſmiſſe me either with I or no. I, if thou ſaie I to my requeſt, No, if thouſaie no to my demand. Then no my Lord, my ſute is at an end. The widdow likes him not, ſhee bends the brow. Why he is the blunteſt woer in chriſtendome. Her lookes are all repleat with maieſtie, One waie or other ſhe is for a king, And ſhe ſhall be my loue or elſe my Queene. Saie that king Edward tooke thee for his Queene. Tis better ſaid then done, my gratious Lord, I am a ſubiect ſit to ieſt withall, But far vnfit to be a Soueraigne. Sweet widdow, by my ſtate I ſweare, I ſpeake No more then what my hart intends, And that is to enioie thee for my loue. And that is more then I will yeeld vnto, I know I am too bad to be your Queene, And yet too good to be your Concubine. You call widdow, I did meane my Queene. Your grace would be loath my ſonnes ſhould call you father. No more then when my daughters call thee Mother. Thou art a widow and thou haſt ſome children, And by Gods mother I being but a bacheler Haue other ſome Why tis a happy thing To be the father of manie children. Argue no more, for thou ſhalt be my Queene.