Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1592] (Annals) tragedy; history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.84 · 514 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
I would they were, that I might dye at once: For now they kill me with a living death. Those eyes of thine, from mine have drawn salt Tears; Shamed their Aspects with store of childish drops: These eyes, which never shed remorseful tear, No, when my Father York, and Edward wept, To hear the piteous moan that Rutland made When black-faced Clifford shook his sword at him. Nor when thy warlike Father like a Child, Told the sad story of my Father's death, And twenty times, made pause to sob and weep: That all the standers by had wet their cheeks Like Trees bedashed with rain. In that sad time, My manly eyes did scorn an humble tear: And what these sorrows could not thence exhale, Thy Beauty hath, and made them blind with weeping. I never sued to Friend, nor Enemy: My Tongue could never learn sweet smoothing word. But now thy Beauty is proposed my Fee, My proud heart sues, and prompts my tongue to speak. Teach not thy lip such Scorn; for it was made For kissing Lady, not for such contempt. If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive, Lo here I lend thee this sharpe-pointed Sword, Which if thou please to hide in this true breast, And let the Soul forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly stroke, And humbly beg the death upon my knee, Nay do not pause: For I did kill King Henry, But 'twas thy Beauty that provoked me. Nay now dispatch: 'Twas I that stabbed young Edward, But 'twas thy Heavenly face that set me on. Take up the Sword again, or take up me. Arise Dissembler, though I wish thy death, I will not be thy Executioner. Then bid me kill myself, and I will do it. I have already. That was in thy rage: Speak it again, and even with the word, This hand, which for thy love, did kill thy Love, Shall for thy love, kill a far truer Love, To both their deaths shalt thou be accessary. I would I knew thy heart. 'Tis figured in my tongue. I fear me, both are false. Then never Man was true. Well, well, put up your Sword. Say then my Peace is made. That shalt thou know hereafter. But shall I live in hope. All men I hope live so. Vouchsafe to wear this Ring. Look how my Ring incompasseth thy Finger, Even so thy Breast encloseth my poor heart: Wear both of them, for both of them are thine. And if thy poor devoted Servant may But beg one favour at thy gracious hand, Thou dost confirm his happiness for ever. What is it? That it may please you leave these sad designs, To him that hath most cause to be a Mourner, And presently repair to Crosby House: Where (after I have solemnly interred At Chertsey Monast'ry this Noble King, And wet his Grave with my Repentant Tears) I will with all expedient duty see you, For diverse unknown Reasons, I beseech you, Grant me this Boon.
nodes 330–397 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 6 of 56 in this edition
Length
514 words · 673 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.842 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
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)
I would they were, that I might dye at once: For now they kill me with a liuing death. Thoſe eyes of thine, from mine haue drawne ſalt Teares; Sham'd their Aſpects with ſtore of childiſh drops: Theſe eyes, which neuer ſhed remorſefull teare, No, when my Father Yorke, and Edward wept, To heare the pittious moane that Rutland made When black-fac'd Clifford ſhooke his ſword at him. Nor when thy warlike Father like a Childe, Told the ſad ſtorie of my Fathers death, And twenty times, made pauſe to ſob and weepe: That all the ſtanders by had wet their cheekes Like Trees bedaſh'd with raine. In that ſad time, My manly eyes did ſcorne an humble teare: And what theſe ſorrowes could not thence exhale, Thy Beauty hath, and made them blinde with weeping. I neuer ſued to Friend, nor Enemy: My Tongue could neuer learne ſweet ſmoothing word. But now thy Beauty is propos'd my Fee, My proud heart ſues, and prompts my tongue to ſpeake. Teach not thy lip ſuch Scorne; for it was made For kiſſing Lady, not for ſuch contempt. If thy reuengefull heart cannot forgiue, Loe heere I lend thee this ſharpe-pointed Sword, Which if thou pleaſe to hide in this true breſt, And let the Soule forth that adoreth thee, I lay it naked to the deadly ſtroke, And humbly begge the death vpon my knee, Nay do not pauſe: For I did kill King Henrie, But 'twas thy Beauty that prouoked me. Nay now diſpatch: 'Twas I that ſtabb'd yong Edward, But 'twas thy Heauenly face that ſet me on. Take vp the Sword againe, or take vp me. Ariſe Diſſembler, though I wiſh thy death, I will not be thy Executioner. Then bid me kill my ſelfe, and I will do it. I haue already. That was in thy rage: Speake it againe, and euen with the word, This hand, which for thy loue, did kill thy Loue, Shall for thy loue, kill a farre truer Loue, To both their deaths ſhalt thou be acceſſary. I would I knew thy heart. 'Tis figur'd in my tongue. I feare me, both are falſe. Then neuer Man was true. Well, well, put vp your Sword. Say then my Peace is made. That ſhalt thou know heereafter. But ſhall I liue in hope. All men I hope liue ſo. Vouchſafe to weare this Ring. Looke how my Ring incompaſſeth thy Finger, Euen ſo thy Breſt incloſeth my poore heart: Weare both of them, for both of them are thine. And if thy poore deuoted Seruant may But beg one fauour at thy gracious hand, Thou doſt confirme his happineſſe for euer. What is it? That it may pleaſe you leaue theſe ſad deſignes, To him that hath moſt cauſe to be a Mourner, And preſently repayre to Crosbie Houſe: Where (after I haue ſolemnly interr'd At Chertſey Monaſt'ry this Noble King, And wet his Graue with my Repentant Teares) I will with all expedient duty ſee you, For diuers vnknowne Reaſons, I beſeech you, Grant me this Boon.