Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1592] (Annals) tragedy; history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) T43 York and Lancaster: dynastic claims and typicality 0.82 · 512 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T43: henry, king, richard, warwick, york, edward, father, duke, crown, son.
No doubt, no doubt, and so shall Clarence too, For they that were your Enemies, are his, And have prevailed as much on him, as you, More pity, that the Eagles should be mewed, Whiles Kites and Buzzards play at liberty. What news abroad? No news so bad abroad, as this at home: The King is sickly, weak, and melancholy, And his Physicians fear him mightily. Now by S. Iohn, that News is bad indeed. O he hath kept an evil Diet long, And overmuch consumed his Royal Person: 'Tis very grievous to be thought upon Where is he, in his bed? He is. Go you before, and I will follow you. He cannot live I hope, and must not dye, Till George be packed with post-horse up to Heaven. I'll in to urge his hatred more to Clarence, With Lies well steeled with weighty Arguments, And if I fail not in my deep intent, Clarence hath not another day to live: Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, And leave the world for me to bustle in. For then, I'll marry Warwick's youngest daughter. What though I killed her Husband, and her Father, The readiest way to make the Wench amends, Is to become her Husband, and her Father: The which will I, not all so much for love, As for another secret close intent, By marrying her, which I must reach unto. But yet I run before my horse to Market: Clarence still breathes, Edward still lives and reigns, When they are gone, then must I count my gains. Set down, set down your honourable load, If Honour may be shrouded in a Hearse; Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament Th' untimely fall of Virtuous Lancaster. Poor keycold Figure of a holy King, Pale Ashes of the House of Lancaster; Thou bloodless Remnant of that Royal Blood, Be it lawful that I invocate thy Ghost, To hear the Lamentations of poor Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughtered Son, Stabbed by the selfsame hand that made these wounds. Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life, I pour the helpless Balm of my poor eyes. O cursed be the hand that made these holes: Cursed the Heart, that had the heart to do it: Cursed the Blood, that let this blood from hence: More direful hap betide that hated Wretch That makes us wretched by the death of thee, Then I can wish to Wolves, to Spiders, Toads, Or any creeping venomed thing that lives. If ever he have Child, Abortive be it, Prodigious, and untimely brought to light, Whose ugly and unnatural Aspect May fright the hopeful Mother at the view, And that be Heir to his unhappiness. If ever he have Wife, let her be made More miserable by the death of him, Then I am made by my young Lord, and thee. Come now towards Chertsey with your holy Lode, Taken from Paul's, to be interred there. And still as you are weary of this weight, Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry's Coarse.
seed 43: T8 · seed 44: T50 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
No doubt, no doubt, and ſo ſhall Clarence too, For they that were your Enemies, are his, And haue preuail'd as much on him, as you, More pitty, that the Eagles ſhould be mew'd, Whiles Kites and Buzards play at liberty. What newes abroad? No newes ſo bad abroad, as this at home: The King is ſickly, weake, and melancholly, And his Phyſitians feare him mightily. Now by S. Iohn, that Newes is bad indeed. O he hath kept an euill Diet long, And ouer-much conſum'd his Royall Perſon: 'Tis very greeuous to be thought vpon Where is he, in his bed? He is. Go you before, and I will follow you. He cannot liue I hope, and muſt not dye, Till George be pack'd with poſt-horſe vp to Heauen. Ile in to vrge his hatred more to Clarence, With Lyes well ſteel'd with weighty Arguments, And if I faile not in my deepe intent, Clarence hath not another day to liue: Which done, God take King Edward to his mercy, And leaue the world for me to bſsle in. For then, Ile marry Warwickes yongeſt daughter. What though I kill'd her Husband, and her Father, The readieſt way to make the Wench amends, Is to become her Husband, and her Father: The which will I, not all ſo much for loue, As for another ſecret cloſe intent, By marrying her, which I muſt reach vnto▪ But yet I run before my horſe to Market: Clarence ſtill breathes, Edward ſtill liues and raignes, When they are gone, then muſt I count my gaines. Set downe, ſet downe your honourable load, If Honor may be ſhrowded in a Herſe; Whil'ſt I a-while obſequiouſly lament Th' vntimely fall of Vertuous Lancaſter. Poore key-cold Figure of a holy King, Pale Aſhes of the Houſe of Lancaſter; Thou bloodleſſe Remnant of that Royall Blood, Be it lawfull that I inuocate thy Ghoſt, To heare the Lamentations of poore Anne, Wife to thy Edward, to thy ſlaughtred Sonne, Stab'd by the ſelfeſame hand that made theſe wounds. Loe, in theſe windowes that let forth thy life, I powre the helpleſſe Balme of my poore eyes. O curſed be the hand that made theſe holes: Curſed the Heart, that had the heart to do it: Curſed the Blood, that let this blood from hence: More direfull hap betide that hated Wretch That makes vs wretched by the death of thee, Then I can wiſh to Wolues, to Spiders, Toades, Or any creeping venom'd thing that liues. If euer he haue Childe, Abortiue be it, Prodigeous, and vntimely brought to light, Whoſe vgly and vnnaturall Aſpect May fright the hopefull Mother at the view, And that be Heyre to his vnhappineſſe. If euer he haue Wife, let her be made More miſerable by the death of him, Then I am made by my young Lord, and thee. Come now towards Chertſey with your holy Lode, Taken from Paules, to be interred there. And ſtill as you are weary of this waight, Reſt you, whiles I lament King Henries Coarſe.