Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1592] (Annals) tragedy; history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) unassigned nearest T14 Royal love, favour and dynastic relation · 498 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
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, Brother to Brother; Blood to blood, self against self: O prepostorous And frantic outrage, and thy damned spleen, Or let me dye, to look on earth no more. Come, come my Boy, we will to Sanctuary Madam, farewell. Stay, I will go 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. Go, I'll conduct you to the Sanctuary. Welcome sweet Prince to London, To your Chamber. Welcome dear Cousin, 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: No more can you distinguish of a man, Then of his outward show, which God he knows, Seldom 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 Lord, the Mayor of London comes to greet you. God bless your Grace, with health and happy days. I thank you, good my Lord, and thank you all: I thought my Mother, and my Brother York, Would long, ere this, have met us on the way. Fie, what a Slug is Hastings, that he comes not To tell us, whether they will come, or no. And in good time, here comes the sweeting Lord. Welcome, my Lord: what, will our Mother come? On what occasion God he knows, not I; The Queen your Mother, and your Brother York, Have taken Sanctuary: The tender Prince Would fain have come with me, to meet your Grace, But by his Mother was perforce withheld. Fie, what an indirect and peevish course Is this of hers? Lord Cardinal, will your Grace Persuade the Queen, to send the Duke of York Unto his Princely Brother presently? If she deny, Lord Hastings go with him, And from her jealous Arms pluck him perforce. My Lord of Buckingham, if my weak Oratory Can from his Mother win the Duke of York, Anon expect him here: but if she be obdurate To mild entreaties, God forbidden We should infringe the holy Privilege Of blessed Sanctuary: not for all this Land, Would I be guilty of so great a sin.
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)
Accurſed, and vnquiet wrangling dayes, How many of you haue mine eyes 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 Domeſticke broyles Cleane ouer-blowne, themſelues the Conquerors, Make warre vpon themſelues, Brother to Brother; Blood to blood, ſelfe againſt ſelfe: O prepoſtorous And franticke outrage, nd thy damned ſpleene, Or let me dye, to looke on earth no more. Come, come my Boy, we will to Sanctuary▪ Madam, farwell. Stay, I will go with you. You haue no cauſe. My gracious Lady go, And thether beare your Treaſure and your Goodes, 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. Go, Ile conduct you to the Sanctuary. Welcome ſweete Prince to London, To your Chamber. Welcome deere Coſin, my thoughts Soueraign The wearie way hath made you Melancholly. No Vnkle, but our croſſes on the way, Haue made it tedious, weariſome, and heauie. I want more Vnkles heere to welcome me. Sweet Prince, the vntainted vertue of your yeers Hath not yet diu'd into the Worlds deceit: No more can you diſtinguiſh of a man, Then of his outward ſhew, which God he knowes, Seldome or neuer iumpeth with the heart. Thoſe Vnkles which you want, were dangerous: Your Grace attended to their Sugred words, But look'd not on the poyſon of their hearts: God keepe you from them, and from ſuch falſe Friends. God keepe me from falſe Friends, But they were none. My Lord, the Maior of London comes to greet you. God bleſſe your Grace, with health and happie dayes. I thanke you, good my Lord, and thank you all: I thought my Mother, and my Brother Yorke, Would long, ere this, haue met vs on the way. Fie, what a Slug is Haſtings, that he comes not To tell vs, whether they will come, or no. And in good time, heere comes the ſweating Lord. Welcome, my Lord: what, will our Mother come? On what occaſion God he knowes, not I; The Queene your Mother, and your Brother Yorke, Haue taken Sanctuarie: The tender Prince Would faine haue come with me, to meet your Grace, But by his Mother was perforce with-held. Fie, what an indirect and peeuiſh courſe Is this of hers? Lord Cardinall, will your Grace Perſwade the Queene, to ſend the Duke of Yorke Vnto his Princely Brother preſently? If ſhe denie, Lord Hastings goe with him, And from her iealous Armes pluck him perforce. My Lord of Buckingham, if my weake Oratorie Can from his Mother winne the Duke of Yorke, Anon expect him here: but if ſhe be obdurate To milde entreaties, God forbid We ſhould infringe the holy Priuiledge Of bleſſed Sanctuarie: not for all this Land, Would I be guiltie of ſo great a ſinne.