3 Henry the Sixth (The True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York and the Good King Henry the Sixth) · chunk 10 of 47
Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written c.1591 (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 450 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
Had he been slaughterman to all my Kin, I should not for my Life but weep with him, To see how inly Sorrow gripes his Soul. What, weeping ripe, my Lord Northumberland? Think but upon the wrong he did us all, And that will quickly dry thy melting Tears. here's for my Oath, here's for my Father's Death. And here's to right our gentle-hearted King. Open thy Gate of Mercy, gracious God, My Soul flies through these wounds, to seek out thee. Off with his Head, and set it on York Gates, So York may overlook the Town of York. I wonder how our Princely Father 'scaped: Or whether he be 'scaped away, or no, From Cliffords and Northumberlands pursuit? Had he been ta'en, we should have heard the news; Had he been slain, we should have heard the news: Or had he 'scaped, me thinks we should have heard The happy tidings of his good escape. How fares my Brother? why is he so sad? I cannot joy, until I be resolved Where our right valiant Father is become. I saw him in the Battle range about, And watched him how he singled Clifford forth. Methought he bore him in the thickest troop, As doth a Lion in a Herd of Neat, Or as a Bear encompassed round with Dogs: Who having pinched a few, and made them cry, The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him. So fared our Father with his Enemies, So fled his Enemies my Warlike Father: methinks 'tis prize enough to be his Son. See how the Morning opes her golden Gates, And takes her farewell of the glorious Sun. How well resembles it the prime of Youth, Trimmed like a Younker, prancing to his Love? Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three Suns? Three glorious Suns, each one a perfect Sun, Not separated with the racking Clouds, But severed in a pale cleare-shining Sky. See, see, they join, embrace, and seem to kiss, As if they vowed some League inviolable. Now are they but one Lamp, one Light, one Sun: In this, the Heaven figures some event. 'Tis wondrous strange, The like yet never heard of. I think it cities us (Brother) to the field, That we, the Sons of brave Plantagenet, Each one already blazing by our medes, Should notwithstanding join our Lights together, And overshine the Earth, as this the World. What ere it bodes, henceforward will I bear Upon my Target three fair shining Suns. Nay, bear three Daughters: By your leave, I speak it, You love the Breeder better than the Male. But what art thou, whose heavy Looks foretell Some dreadful story hanging on thy Tongue?
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)
Had he been ſlaughter-man to all my Kinne, I ſhould not for my Life but weepe with him, To ſee how inly Sorrow gripes his Soule. What, weeping ripe, my Lord Northumberland? Thinke but vpon the wrong he did vs all, And that will quickly drie thy melting Teares. Heere's for my Oath, heere's for my Fathers Death. And heere's to right our gentle-hearted King. Open thy Gate of Mercy, gracious God, My Soule flyes through theſe wounds, to ſeeke out thee. Off with his Head, and ſet it on Yorke Gates, So Yorke may ouer-looke the Towne of Yorke. I wonder how our Princely Father ſcap't: Or whether he be ſcap't away, or no, From Cliffords and Northumberlands purſuit? Had he been ta'ne, we ſhould haue heard the newes; Had he beene ſlaine, we ſhould haue heard the newes: Or had he ſcap't▪ me thinkes we ſhould haue heard The happy tidings of his good eſcape. How fares my Brother? why is he ſo ſad? I cannot ioy, vntill I be reſolu'd Where our right valiant Father is become. I ſaw him in the Battaile range about, And watcht him how he ſingled Clifford forth▪ Me thought he bore him in the thickeſt troupe, As doth a Lyon in a Heard of Neat, Or as a Beare encompaſs'd round with Dogges: Who hauing pincht a few, and made them cry, The reſt ſtand all aloofe, and barke at him. So far'd our Father with his Enemies, So fled his Enemies my Warlike Father: Me thinkes 'tis prize enough to be his Sonne. See how the Morning opes her golden Gates, And takes her farwell of the glorious Sunne▪ How well reſembles it the prime of Youth, Trimm'd like a Yonker, prauncing to his Loue? Dazle mine eyes, or doe I ſee three Sunnes? Three glorious Sunnes, each one a perfect Sunne, Not ſeperated with the racking Clouds, But ſeuer'd in a pale cleare-ſhining Skye. See, ſee, they ioyne, embrace, and ſeeme to kiſſe, As if they vow'd ſome League inuiolable. Now are they but one Lampe, one Light, one Sunne: In this, the Heauen figures ſome euent. 'Tis wondrous ſtrange, The like yet neuer heard of. I thinke it cites vs (Brother) to the field, That wee, the Sonnes of braue Plantagenet, Each one alreadie blazing by our meedes, Should notwithſtanding ioyne our Lights together, And ouer-ſhine the Earth, as this the World. What ere it bodes, hence-forward will I beare Vpon my Targuet three faire ſhining Sunnes. Nay, beare three Daughters: By your leaue, I ſpeake it, You loue the Breeder better then the Male. But what art thou, whoſe heauie Lookes fore-tell Some dreadfull ſtory hanging on thy Tongue?