Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1592] (Annals) tragedy; history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 503 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
I'll go, my Lord, and tell him what you say. Many good morrows to my Noble Lord. Good morrow Catesby, you are early stirring: What news, what news, in this our tottering State? It is a reeling World indeed, my Lord: And I believe will never stand upright, Till Richard wear the Garland of the Realm. How wear the Garland? Dost thou mean the Crown? I, my good Lord. I'll have this Crown of mine cut from my shoulders, Before I'll see the Crown so foul misplaced: But canst thou guess, that he doth aim at it? I, on my life, and hopes to find you forward, Upon his party, for the gain thereof: And thereupon he sends you this good news, That this same very day your enemies. The Kindred of the Queen, must dye at Pomfret. Indeed I am no mourner for that news, Because they have been still my adversaries: But, that I'll give my voice on Richard's side, To bar my Master's Heirs in true Descent, God knows I will not do it, to the death. God keep your Lordship in that gracious mind. But I shall laugh at this a twelvemonth hence, That they which brought me in my Master's hate, I live to look upon their Tragedy. Well Catesby, ere a fortnight make me older, I'll send some packing, that yet think not on't. 'Tis a vile thing to dye, my gracious Lord, When men are unprepared, and look not for it. O monstrous, monstrous! and so falls it out With Rivers Vaughan, Grey: and so 'twill do With some men else, that think themselves as safe As thou and I, who (as thou knowst) are dear To Princely Richard, and to Buckingham. The Princes both make high account of you, For they account his Head upon the Bridge. I know they do, and I have well deserved it. Come on, come on, where is your Boar-spear man? Fear you the Boar, and go so unprovided? My Lord good morrow, good morrow Catesby: You may jest on, but by the holy Rood, I do not like these several Counsels, I. My Lord, I hold my Life as dear as yours, And never in my days, I do protest, Was it so precious to me, as 'tis now: Think you, but that I know our state secure, I would be so triumphant as I am? The Lords at Pomfret, when they road from London, Were jocund, and supposed their states were sure, And they indeed had no cause to mistrust: But yet you see, how soon the Day o'ercast. This sudden stab of Rancour I misdoubt: Pray God (I say) I prove a needless Coward. What, shall we toward the Tower? the day is spent. Come, come, have with you: Wots you what, my Lord, To day the Lords you talk of, are beheaded. They, for their truth, might better wear their Heads, Then some that have accused them, wear their Hats. But come, my Lord, let's away.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T50 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Ile goe, my Lord, and tell him what you ſay. Many good morrowes to my Noble Lord. Good morrow Catesby, you are early ſtirring: What newes, what newes, in this our tott'ring State? It is a reeling World indeed, my Lord: And I beleeue will neuer ſtand vpright, Till Richard weare the Garland of the Realme. How weare the Garland? Doeſt thou meane the Crowne? I, my good Lord. Ile haue this Crown of mine cut frō my ſhoulders, Before Ile ſee the Crowne ſo foule miſ-plac'd: But canſt thou gueſſe, that he doth ayme at it? I, on my life, and hopes to find you forward, Vpon his partie, for the gaine thereof: And thereupon he ſends you this good newes, That this ſame very day your enemies. The Kindred of the Queene, muſt dye at Pomfret. Indeed I am no mourner for that newes, Becauſe they haue beene ſtill my aduerſaries: But, that Ile giue my voice on Richards ſide, To barre my Maſters Heires in true Deſcent, God knowes I will not doe it, to the death. God keepe your Lordſhip in that gracious minde. But I ſhall laugh at this a twelue-month hence, That they which brought me in my Maſters hate, I liue to looke vpon their Tragedie. Well Catesby, ere a fort-night make me older, Ile ſend ſome packing, that yet thinke not on't. 'Tis a vile thing to dye, my gracious Lord, When men are vnprepar'd, and looke not for it. O monſtrous, monſtrous! and ſo falls it out With Riuers Ʋaughan, Grey: and ſo 'twill doe With ſome men elſe, that thinke themſelues as ſafe As thou and I, who (as thou know'ſt) are deare To Princely Richard, and to Buckingham. The Princes both make high account of you, For they account his Head vpon the Bridge. I know they doe, and I haue well deſeru'd it. Come on, come on, where is your Bore-ſpeare man? Feare you the Bore, and goe ſo vnprouided? My Lord good morrow, good morrow Catesby: You may ieaſt on, but by the holy Rood, I doe not like theſe ſeuerall Councels, I. My Lord, I hold my Life as deare as yours, And neuer in my dayes, I doe proteſt, Was it ſo precious to me, as 'tis now: Thinke you, but that I know our ſtate ſecure, I would be ſo triumphant as I am? The Lords at Pomfret▪ whē they rode from London, Were iocund, and ſuppos'd their ſtates were ſure, And they indeed had no cauſe to miſtruſt: But yet you ſee, how ſoone the Day o're-caſt. This ſudden ſtab of Rancour I miſdoubt: Pray God (I ſay) I proue a needleſſe Coward. What, ſhall we toward the Tower? the day is ſpent. Come, come, haue with you: Wot you what, my Lord, To day the Lords you talke of, are beheaded. They, for their truth, might better wear their Heads, Then ſome that haue accus'd them, weare their Hats. But come, my Lord, let's away.