Shakespeare, William · published 1597 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1592] (Annals) tragedy; history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) unassigned nearest T43 York and Lancaster: dynastic claims and · 498 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T43: henry, king, richard, warwick, york, edward, father, duke, crown, son.
Marry they say, my Uncle grew so fast, That he could gnaw a crust at two hours old: TTwas full two years ere I could get a tooth. Granam this would have beene a biting jest. I pray thee pretty York who told thee so. Granam his nurse. His nurse: why she was dead ere thou wert borne. If ttwere not she, I cannot tell who told me. A perilous boy, go to, you are too shrewd. Good Madam be not angry with the child. Pitchers have ears. Here comes your son, Lo: M. Dorset. What news Lo: Marques? Such news my Lo: as grieves me to unfold. How fares the Prince? Well Madam, and in health. What is thy news then? Lo: Rivers and Lo: Grace are sent to Pomfret, With them, Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoner's. Who hath committed them? The mighty Dukes, Gloucester and Buckingham. For what offence. The sum of all I can, I have disclosed: Why, or for what, these nobles were committed, Is all unknown to me my gracious Lady. Ay me I see the downfall of our house, The tiger now hath seized the gentle hind: Insulting tyranny begins to jet, Upon the innocent and lawless throne: Welcome destruction, death and massacre, I see as in a map the end of all. Accursed and unquiet wrangling days, How many of you have mine eyes beheld? My husband lost his life to get the crown, And often up and down my sons were tossed: For me to joy and weep their gain and loss, And being seated and domestic broils, Clean overblown themselves, the conquerors Make war upon themselves, blood against blood, Self against self, O preposterous And frantic outrage, end thy damned spleen, Or let me die to look on death no more. Come come my boy, we will to sanctuary. I'll go along with you. You have no cause. My gracious Lady go, And thither bear your treasure and your goods, For my part, I'll resign unto your Grace The seal I keep, and so betide to me, As well I tender you and all of yours: Come I'll conduct you to the sanctuary. Welcome sweet Prince to London to your chamber. Welcome dear, cozen my thoughts sovereign, The weary way hath made you melancholy. No Uncle, but our crosses on the way Have made it tedious, wearisome, and heavy: I want more Uncles here to welcome me. Sweet Prince, the untainted virtue of your years, Hath not yet dived into the world's deceit: Nor more can you distinguish of a man, Then of his outward show, which God he knows, S●●dome or never jumpeth with the heart: Those Uncles which you want, were dangerous, Your Grace attended to their sugared words, But looked not on the poison of their hearts: God keep you from them, and from such false friends. God keep me from false friends, but they were none▪ My Lo, the Mayor of London comes to greet you.
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)
Mary they say, my Vnckle grew so fast, That he could gnaw a crust at two houres olde: Twas full two yeares ere I could get a tooth. Granam this would haue heene a biting iest. I pray thee prety Yorke who tolde thee so. Granam his nurse. His nurse: why she was dead ere thou wert borne. If twere not she, I cannot tell who tolde me. A perilous boy, go to, you are too shrewde. Good Madame be not angry with the childe. Pitchers haue eares. Here comes your sonne, Lo: M. Dorset. What newes Lo: Marques? Such newes my Lo: as grieues me to vnfolde. How fares the Prince? Well Madame, and in health. What is thy newes then? Lo: Riuers and Lo: Gray are sent to Pomfret, With them, Sir Thomas Vaughan, prisoners. Who hath committed them? The mighty Dukes, Glocester and Buckingham. For what offence. The summe of all I can, I haue disclosed: Why, or for what, these nobles were committed, Is all vnknowen to me my gratious Lady. Ay me I see the downfall of our house, The tyger now hath ceazd the gentle hinde: Insulting tyranny beginnes to iet, Vpon the innocent and lawlesse throane: Welcome destruction, death and massacre, I see as in a mappe the ende of all. Accursed and vnquiet wrangling daies, How many of you haue mine eies beheld? My husband lost his life to get the crowne, And often vp and downe my sonnes were tost: For me to ioy and weepe their gaine and losse, And being seated and domestike broiles, Cleane ouerblowne themselues, the conquerours Make warre vpon themselues, bloud against bloud, Selfe against selfe, O preposterous And frantike outrage, ende thy damned spleene, Or let me die to looke on death no more. Come come my boy, we will to sanctuary. Ile go along with you. You haue no cause. My gratious Lady go, And thither beare your treasure and your goods, For my part, Ile resigne vnto your Grace The seale I keepe, and so betide to me, As well I tender you and all of yours: Come Ile conduct you to the sanctuary. Welcome sweete Prince to London to your chamber. Welcome deare, Cosen my thoughts soueraigne, The weary way hath made you melancholy. No Vnckle, but our crosses on the way Haue made it tedious, wearisome, and heauy: I want more Vnckles here to welcome me. Sweete Prince, the vntainted vertue of your yeres, Hath not yet diued into the worlds deceit: Nor more can you distinguish of a man, Then of his outward shew, which God he knowes, Sdome or neuer iumpeth with the heart: Those Vnckles which you want, were dangerous, Your Grce attended to their sugred words, But lookt not on the poison of their hearts: God keepe you from them, and from such false friends. God keepe me from false friends, but they wer none▪ My Lo, the Maior of London comes to greete you.