3 Henry the Sixth (The True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York and the Good King Henry the Sixth) · chunk 43 of 47
Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written c.1591 (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men unassigned nearest T57 Ships, merchants and pirates · 522 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T57: ship, sea, master, sail, home, money, pisaro, life, ships, till.
We are advertised by our loving friends, That they do hold their course toward Tewksbury. We having now the best at Barnet field, Will thither strait, for willingness rids way, And as we march, our strength will be augmented: In every County as we go along, Strike up the Drum, cry courage, and away. Great Lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. What though the Mast be now blown overboard, The Cable broke, the holding-Anchor lost, And half our Sailors swallowed in the flood? Yet lives our Pilot still. Is't meet, that he Should leave the Helm, and like a fearful Lad, With tearful Eyes add Water to the Sea, And give more strength to that which hath too much, Whiles in his moan, the Ship splits on the Rock, Which Industry and Courage might have saved? Ah what a shame, ah what a fault were this. Say Warwick was our Anchor: what of that? And Montague our Topmast: what of him? Our slaughtered friends, the Tackles: what of these? Why is not Oxford here, another Anchor? And Somerset, another goodly Mast? The friends of France our Shrowds and Tackle? And though unskilful, why not Ned and I, For once allowed the skilful Pilots Charge? We will not from the Helm, to sit and weep, But keep our Course (though the rough Wind say no) From Shelves and Rocks, that threaten us with Wrack. As good to chide the Waves, as speak them fair. And what is Edward, but a ruthless Sea? What Clarence, but a Quicksand of Deceit? And Richard, but a raged fatal Rock? All these, the Enemies to our poor Bark. Say you can swim, alas 'tis but a while: Tread on the Sand, why there you quickly sink, Bestride the Rock, the Tide will wash you off, Or else you famish, that's a threefold Death. This speak I (Lords) to let you understand, If case some one of you would fly from us, That there's no hoped-for Mercy with the Brothers, More than with ruthless Waves, with Sands and Rocks. Why courage then, what cannot be avoided, 'Twere childish weakness to lament, or fear. Me thinks a Woman of this valiant Spirit, Should, if a Coward heard her speak these words, Infuse his Breast with Magnanimity, And make him, naked, foil a man at Arms. I speak not this, as doubting any here: For did I but suspect a fearful man, He should have leave to go away betimes, Lest in our need he might infect another, And make him of like spirit to himself. If any such be here, as God forbidden, Let him departed, before we need his help. Women and Children of so high a courage, And Warriors faint, why 'twere perpetual shame. Oh brave young Prince: thy famous Grandfather Doth live again in thee; long may'st thou live, To bear his Image, and renew his Glories. And he that will not fight for such a hope, Go home to Bed, and like the Owl by day, If he arise, be mocked and wondered at.
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)
We are aduertis'd by our louing friends, That they doe hold their courſe toward Tewksbury. We hauing now the beſt at Barnet field, Will thither ſtraight, for willingneſſe rids way, And as we march, our ſtrength will be augmented: In euery Countie as we goe along, Strike vp the Drumme, cry courage, and away. Great Lords, wiſe men ne'r ſit and waile their loſſe, But chearely ſeeke how to redreſſe their harmes. What though the Maſt be now blowne ouer-boord, The Cable broke, the holding-Anchor loſt, And halfe our Saylors ſwallow'd in the flood? Yet liues our Pilot ſtill. Is't meet, that hee Should leaue the Helme, and like a fearefull Lad, With tearefull Eyes adde Water to the Sea, And giue more ſtrength to that which hath too much, Whiles in his moane, the Ship ſplits on the Rock, Which Induſtrie and Courage might haue ſau'd? Ah what a ſhame, ah what a fault were this. Say Warwicke was our Anchor: what of that? And Mountague our Top-Maſt: what of him? Our ſlaught'red friends, the Tackles: what of theſe? Why is not Oxford here, another Anchor? And Somerſet, another goodly Maſt? The friends of France our Shrowds and Tacklings? And though vnskilfull, why not Ned and I, For once allow'd the skilfull Pilots Charge? We will not from the Helme, to ſit and weepe, But keepe our Courſe (though the rough Winde ſay no) From Shelues and Rocks, that threaten vs with Wrack. As good to chide the Waues, as ſpeake them faire. And what is Edward, but a ruthleſſe Sea? What Clarence, but a Quick-ſand of Deceit? And Richard, but a raged fatall Rocke? All theſe, the Enemies to our poore Barke. Say you can ſwim, alas 'tis but a while: Tread on the Sand, why there you quickly ſinke, Beſtride the Rock, the Tyde will waſh you off, Or elſe you famiſh, that's a three-fold Death. This ſpeake I (Lords) to let you vnderſtand, If caſe ſome one of you would flye from vs, That there's no hop'd-for Mercy with the Brothers, More then with ruthleſſe Waues, with Sands and Rocks. Why courage then, what cannot be auoided, 'Twere childiſh weakeneſſe to lament, or feare. Me thinkes a Woman of this valiant Spirit, Should, if a Coward heard her ſpeake theſe words, Infuſe his Breaſt with Magnanimitie, And make him, naked, foyle a man at Armes. I ſpeake not this, as doubting any here: For did I but ſuſpect a fearefull man, He ſhould haue leaue to goe away betimes, Leaſt in our need he might infect another, And make him of like ſpirit to himſelfe. If any ſuch be here, as God forbid, Let him depart, before we neede his helpe. Women and Children of ſo high a courage, And Warriors faint, why 'twere perpetuall ſhame. Oh braue young Prince: thy famous Grandfather Doth liue againe in thee; long may'ſt thou liue, To beare his Image, and renew his Glories. And he that will not fight for ſuch a hope, Goe home to Bed, and like the Owle by day, If he ariſe, be mock'd and wondred at.