Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1592] (Annals) tragedy; history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 501 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
My pretty Cousins, you mistake me both, I do lament the sickness of the King, As loath to lose him, not your Father's death: It were lost sorrow to wail one that's lost. Then you conclude, (my Grandam) he is dead: The King mine Uncle is too blame for it. God will revenge it, whom I will importune With earnest prayers, all to that effect. And so will I. Peace children peace, the King doth love you well. Incapable, and shallow Innocents, You cannot guess who caused your Father's death. Grandam we can: for my good Uncle Gloster Told me, the King provoked to it by the Queen, Devised impeachments to imprison him; And when my Uncle told me so, he wept, And pitied me, and kindly kissed my cheek: Bade me rely on him, as on my Father, And he would love me dearly as a child. Ah! that Deceit should steal such gentle shape, And with a virtuous Vizor hide deep vice, He is my son, I, and therein my shame, Yet from my dugs, he drew not this deceit. Think you my Uncle did dissemble Grandam? I Boy. I cannot think it. Hark, what noise is this? Ah! who shall hinder me to wail and weep? To chide my Fortune, and torment myself. I'll join with black despair against my Soul, And to myself, become an enemy. What means this Scene of rude impatience? To make an act of Tragic violence. Edward my Lord, thy Son, our King is dead. Why grow the Branches, when the Root is gone? Why whither not the leaves that want their sap? If you will live, Lament: if die, be brief, That our swift-winged Souls may catch the Kings, Or like obedient Subjects follow him, To his new Kingdom of nere-changing night. Ah so much interest have in thy sorrow, As I had Title in thy Noble Husband: I have be wept a worthy Husband's death, And lived with looking on his Images: But now two Mirrors of his Princely semblance, Are cracked in pieces, by malignant death, And I for comfort, have but one false Glass, That grieves me, when I see my shame in him. Thou art a Widow: yet thou art a Mother, And hast the comfort of thy Children left, But death hath snatched my Husband from mine Arms, And plucked two Crutches from my feeble hands, Clarence, and Edward. O, what cause have I, (Thine being but a moiety of my moan) To over-go thy woes, and drown thy cries. Ah Aunt! you wept not for our Father's death: How can we aid you with our Kindred tears? Our fatherless distress was left vnmoaned, Your widdow-dolour, likewise be unwept. Give me no help in Lamentation, I am not barren to bring forth complaints: All Springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I being governed by the watery Moon, May send forth plenteous tears to drown the World. Ah, for my Husband, for my dear Lord Edward.
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)
My pretty Coſins, you miſtake me both, I do lament the ſickneſſe of the King, As loath to loſe him, not your Fathers death: It were loſt ſorrow to waile one that's loſt. Then you conclude, (my Grandam) he is dead: The King mine Vnckle is too blame for it. God will reuenge it, whom I will importune With earneſt prayers, all to that effect. And ſo will I. Peace children peace, the King doth loue you wel. Incapeable, and ſhallow Innocents, You cannot gueſſe who caus'd your Fathers death. Grandam we can: for my good Vnkle Gloſter Told me, the King prouok'd to it by the Queene, Deuis'd impeachments to impriſon him; And when my Vnckle told me ſo, he wept, And pittied me, and kindly kiſt my cheeke: Bad me rely on him, as on my Father, And he would loue me deerely as a childe. Ah! that Deceit ſhould ſteale ſuch gentle ſhape, And with a vertuous Vizor hide deepe vice, He is my ſonne, I, and therein my ſhame, Yet from my dugges, he drew not this deceit. Thinke you my Vnkle did diſſemble Grandam? I Boy. I cannot thinke it. Hearke, what noiſe is this? Ah! who ſhall hinder me to waile and weepe? To chide my Fortune, and torment my Selfe. Ile ioyne with blacke diſpaire againſt my Soule, And to my ſelfe, become an enemie. What meanes this Scene of rude impatience? To make an act of Tragicke violence. Edward my Lord, thy Sonne, our King is dead. Why grow the Branches, when the Roote is gone? Why wither not the leaues that want their ſap? If you will liue, Lament: if dye, be breefe, That our ſwift-winged Soules may catch the Kings, Or like obedient Subiects follow him, To his new Kingdome of nere-changing night. Ah ſo much intereſt haue in thy ſorrow, As I had Title in thy Noble Husband: I haue be wept a worthy Husbands death, And liu'd with looking on his Images: But now two Mirrors of his Princely ſemblance, Are crack'd in pieces, by malignant death, And I for comfort, haue but one falſe Glaſſe, That greeues me, when I ſee my ſhame in him. Thou art a Widdow: yet thou art a Mother, And haſt the comfort of thy Children left, But death hath ſnatch'd my Husband from mine Armes, And pluckt two Crutches from my feeble hands, Clarence, and Edward. O, what cauſe haue I, (Thine being but a moity of my moane) To ouer-go thy woes, and drowne thy cries. Ah Aunt! you wept not for our Fathers death: How can we ayde you with our Kindred teares? Our fatherleſſe diſtreſſe was left vnmoan'd, Your widdow-dolour, likewiſe be vnwept. Giue me no helpe in Lamentation, I am not barren to bring forth complaints: All Springs reduce their currents to mine eyes, That I being gouern'd by the waterie Moone, May ſend forth plenteous teares to drowne the World. Ah, for my Husband, for my deere Lord Edward.