Shakespeare, William · published 1597 · first performed or written 1595 (Annals) tragedy; history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T43 York and Lancaster: dynastic claims and · 500 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T43: henry, king, richard, warwick, york, edward, father, duke, crown, son.
Oh spare me not my brothers Edward's son, For that I was his father Edward's son, That blood already like the Pelican, Hast thou tapped out and drunkenly caroused, My brother Gloucester plain well meaning soul, Whom fair befall in heaven 'mongst happy souls, May be a precedent and witness good: That thou respectst not spilling Edward's blood: join with the present sickness that I have, And thy unkindness be like crooked age, To crop at once a too long withered flower, Live in thy shame, but die not shame with thee, These words hereafter thy tormentors be, Convey me to my bed then to my grave, Love they to live that love and honour have. And let them die that age and sullens have, For both hast thou, and both become the grave. I do beseech your Majesty, impute his words To wayward sicklines and age in him, He loves you on my life, and holds you dear, As Harry Duke of Hereford were he here. Right, you say true, as Hereford's love, so his As theirs, so mine, and all be as it is. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Majesty. What says he? Nay nothing, all is said: His tongue is now a stringless instrument, Words, life, and all, old Lancaster hath spent. Be York the next that must be bankrupt so▪ Though death be poor, it ends a mortal wo. The ripest fruit first falls, and so doth he. His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be; So much for that. Now for our Irish wars, We must supplant those rough rugheaded kern, Which live like venom, where no venom else, But only they have privilege to live. And for these great affairs do ask some charge, Towards our assistance we do seize to us: The plate, coin, revenues, and movables Whereof our Uncle Gaunt did stand possessed. How long shall I be patiented? ah how long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Glocesters death, nor Hereford's banishment, Nor Gauntes rebukes, not England's private wrongs, Nor the prevention or poor Bulling brook, About his marriage, nor my own disgrace, Have ever made me sour my patiented cheek, Or bend one wrinkle on my sovereign's face: I am the last of noble Edward's sons, Of whom thy father Prince of Wales was first In war was never Lion raged more fierce, In peace was never gentle lamb more mild, Then was that young and princely Gentleman: His face thou hast, for even so looked he, Accomplished with a number of thy hours; But when he frowned it was against the french, And not against his friends: his noble hand Did win what he did spend, and spent not that Which his triumphant father's hand had won: His hands were guilty of no kindred blood, But bloody with the enemies of his kin: Oh Richard: York is too far gone with grief, Or else he never would compare between. Why Uncle what's the matter?
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)
Oh spare me not my brothers Edwards sonne, For that I was his father Edwards sonne, That bloud already like the Pellican, Hast thou tapt out and drunkenly carowst, My brother Glocester plaine well meaning soule, Whom faire befall in heauen mongst happy soules, Maie be a president and witnes good: That thou respectst not spilling Edwards bloud: Ioine with the present sicknes that I haue, And thy vnkindnes be like crooked age, To crop at once a too long withered flower, Liue in thy shame, but die not shame with thee, These words hereafter thy tormentors be, Convay me to my bed then to my graue, Loue they to liue that loue and honour haue. And let them die that age and sullens haue, For both hast thou, and both become the graue. I doe beseech your Maiesty, impute his words To waiward sicklines and age in him, He loues you on my life, and holdes you deere, As Harry Duke of Hereford were he here. Right, you say true, as Herefords loue, so his As theirs, so mine, and all be as it is. My liege, old Gaunt commends him to your Maiestie. What saies he? Nay nothing, all is said: His tongue is now a stringlesse instrument, Words, life, and al, old Lancaster hath spent. Be Yorke the next that must be bankrout so▪ Though death be poore, it ends a mortall wo. The ripest fruit first fals, and so doth he. His time is spent, our pilgrimage must be; So much for that. Now for our Irish wars, We must supplant those rough rugheaded kerne, Which liue like venome, where no venome else, But onely they haue priuiledge to liue. And for these great affaires do aske some charge, Towards our assistance we doe seaze to vs: The plate, coine, reuees, and moueables Whereof our Vnckle Gaunt did stand possest. How long shal I be patient? ah how long Shall tender duty make me suffer wrong? Not Glocesters death, nor Herefords banishment, Nor Gauntes robukes, not Englands priuate wrongs, Nor the preuention or poore Bulling brooke, About his mariadge, nor my owne disgrace, Haue euer made me sower my patient cheeke, Or bende one wrinckie on my soueraignes face: I am the last of noble Edwards sonnes, Of whom thy father Prince of Wales wa first In warre was neuer Lyon ragde more fierce, In peace was neuer gentle lambe more milde, Then was that young and princely Gentleman: His face thou hast, for euen so lookt he, Accomplisht with a number of thy howers; But when he frowned it was against the french, And not against his friends: his noble hand Did win what he did spende, and spent not that Which triumphant fathers hand had wone: His hands were guilty of no kined bloud, But bloudie with the enemies of his kinne: Oh Richard: Yorke is too far gone with griefe, Or else he neuer would compare betweene. Why Vnckle whats the matter?