3 Henry the Sixth (The True Tragedy of Richard Duke of York and the Good King Henry the Sixth) · chunk 47 of 47
Anonymous / Marlowe, Christopher / Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written c.1591 (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an typicality 0.82 · 508 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog: Then since the Heavens have shaped my Body so, Let Hell make crooked my Mind to answer it. I have no Brother, I am like no Brother: And this word [Love] which Graybeards call Divine, Be resident in men like one another, And not in me: I am myself alone. Clarence beware, thou keept'st me from the Light, But I will sort a pitchy day for thee: For I will buzz abroad such Prophecies, That Edward shall be fearful of his life, And then to purge his fear, I'll be thy death. King Henry, and the Prince his Son are gone, Clarence thy turn is next, and then the rest, Counting myself but bad, till I be best. I'll throw thy body in another room, And Triumph Henry, in thy day of Doom. Once more we sit in England's Royal Throne, Re-purchaced with the Blood of Enemies: What valiant Foe-men, like to Autumn's Corn, Have we mowed down in tops of all their pride? Three Dukes of Somerset, threefold Renown, For hardy and undoubted Champions: Two Cliffords, as the Father and the Son, And two Northumberlands: two braver men, ne'er spurred their Coursers at the Trumpets sound. With them, the two brave Bears, Warwick & Montague, That in their Chains fettered the Kingly Lion, And made the Forest tremble when they roared. Thus have we swept Suspicion from our Seat, And made our Footstool of Security. Come hither Bess, and let me kiss my Boy: Young Ned, for thee, thine Uncles, and myself, Have in our Armours watched the Winter's night, Went all afoot in Summer's scalding heat, That thou mightst repossess the Crown in peace, And of our Labours thou shalt reap the gain. I'll blast his Harvest, if your head were laid, For yet I am not looked on in the world. This shoulder was ordained so thick, to heave, And heave it shall some weight, or break my back, Work thou the way, and that shalt execute. Clarence and Gloster, love my lovely Queen, And kiss your Princely Nephew Brothers both. The duty that I own unto your Majesty, I Seal upon the lips of this sweet Babe. Thank Noble Clarence, worthy brother thanks. And that I love the tree from whence thou sprang'st: Witness the loving kiss I give the Fruit, To say the truth, so Iudas kissed his master, And cried all hail, when as he meant all harm. Now am I seated as my soul delights, Having my Country's peace, and Brothers loves. What will your Grace have done with Margaret, Reynard her Father, to the King of France Hath pawned the Sicils and Ierusalem, And hither have they sent it for her ransom. Away with her, and waft her hence to France: And now what rests, but that we spend the time With stately Triumphs, mirthful Comic shows, Such as befits the pleasure of the Court. Sound Drums and Trumpets, farewell sour annoy, For here I hope begins our lasting joy.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
That I ſhould ſnarle, and bite, and play the dogge: Then ſince the Heauens haue ſhap'd my Body ſo, Let Hell make crook'd my Minde to anſwer it. I haue no Brother, I am like no Brother: And this word [Loue] which Gray-beards call Diuine, Be reſident in men like one another, And not in me: I am my ſelfe alone. Clarence beware, thou keept'ſt me from the Light, But I will ſort a pitchy day for thee: For I will buzze abroad ſuch Propheſies, That Edward ſhall be fearefull of his life, And then to purge his feare, Ile be thy death. King Henry, and the Prince his Son are gone, Clarence thy turne is next, and then the reſt, Counting my ſelfe but bad, till I be beſt. Ile throw thy body in another roome, And Triumph Henry, in thy day of Doome. Once more we ſit in Englands Royall Throne, Re-purchac'd with the Blood of Enemies: What valiant Foe-men, like to Autumnes Corne, Haue we mow'd downe in tops of all their pride? Three Dukes of Somerſet, threefold Renowne, For hardy and vndoubted Champions: Two Cliffords, as the Father and the Sonne, And two Northumberlands: two brauer men, Ne're ſpurr'd their Courſers at the Trumpets ſound. With them, the two braue Beares, Warwick & Montague, That in their Chaines fetter'd the Kingly Lyon, And made the Forreſt tremble when they roar'd. Thus haue we ſwept Suſpition from our Seate, And made our Footſtoole of Security. Come hither Beſſe, and let me kiſſe my Boy: Yong Ned, for thee, thine Vnckles, and my ſelfe, Haue in our Armors watcht the Winters night, Went all afoote in Summers ſcalding heate, That thou might'ſt repoſſeſſe the Crowne in peace, And of our Labours thou ſhalt reape the gaine. Ile blaſt his Harueſt, if your head were laid, For yet I am not look'd on in the world. This ſhoulder was ordain'd ſo thicke, to heaue, And heaue it ſhall ſome waight, or breake my backe, Worke thou the way, and that ſhalt execute. Clarence and Gloſter, loue my louely Queene, And kis your Princely Nephew Brothers both. The duty that I owe vnto your Maieſty, I Seale vpon the lips of this ſweet Babe. Thanke Noble Clarence, worthy brother thanks. And that I loue the tree frō whence yu ſprang'ſt: Witneſſe the louing kiſſe I giue the Fruite, To ſay the truth, ſo Iudas kiſt his maſter, And cried all haile, when as he meant all harme. Now am I ſeated as my ſoule delights, Hauing my Countries peace, and Brothers loues. What will your Grace haue done with Margaret, Reynard her Father, to the King of France Hath pawn'd the Sicils and Ieruſalem, And hither haue they ſent it for her ranſome. Away with her, and waft her hence to France: And now what reſts, but that we ſpend the time With ſtately Triumphes, mirthfull Comicke ſhewes, Such as befits the pleaſure of the Court. Sound Drums and Trumpets, farwell ſowre annoy, For heere I hope begins our laſting ioy.