Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1592] (Annals) tragedy; history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) unassigned nearest T43 York and Lancaster: dynastic claims and · 515 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T43: henry, king, richard, warwick, york, edward, father, duke, crown, son.
Well, let that rest: Dorset is fled to Richmond. I hear the news, my Lord. Stanley, he is your Wife's Son: well, look unto it. My Lord, I claim the gift, my due by promise, For which your Honour and your Faith is pawned, Th' Earldom of Hertford, and the movables, Which you have promised I shall possess. Stanley look to your Wife: if she convey Letters to Richmond, you shall answer it. What says your Highness to my just request? I do remember me, Henry the sixth Did prophesy, that Richmond should be King, When Richmond was a little peevish Boy. A King perhaps. May it please you to resolve me in my suit. Thou troublest me, I am not in the vain. And is it thus? repays he my deep service With such contempt? made I him King for this? O let me think on Hastings, and be gone To Brecnock, while my fearful Head is on. The tyrannous and bloody Act is done, The most arch deed of piteous massacre That ever yet this Land was guilty of: Dighton and Forrest, who I did suborn To do this piece of ruthful Butchery, Albeit they were fleshed Villains, bloody Dogs, Melted with tenderness, and mild compassion, Wept like to Children, in their deaths sad Story. O thus (quoth Dighton) lay the gentle Babes: Thus, thus (quoth Forrest) girdling one another Within their Alabaster innocent Arms: Their lips were four red Roses on a stalk, And in their Summer Beauty kissed each other. A Book of Prayers on their pillow lay, Which one (quoth Forrest) almost changed my mind: But oh the Devil, there the Villain stopped: When Dighton thus told on, we smothered The most replenished sweet work of Nature, That from the prime Creation ere she framed. Hence both are gone with Conscience and Remorse, They could not speak, and so I left them both, To bear this tidings to the bloody King. And here he comes. All health my Sovereign Lord. Kind Tirrell, am I happy in thy News. If to have done the thing you gave in charge, Be get your happiness, be happy then, For it is done. But didst thou see them dead. I did my Lord. And buried gentle Tirrell. The Chaplain of the Tower hath buried them, But where (to say the truth) I do not know. Come to me Tirrel soon, and after Supper, When thou shalt tell the process of their death. Mean time, but think how I may do the good, And be inheritor of thy desire. Farewell till then. I humbly take my leave. The Son of Clarence have I penned up close, His daughter meanly have I matched in marriage, The Sons of Edward sleep in Abraham's bosom, And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night, Now for I know the Britain Richmond aims At young Elizabeth my brother's daughter, And by that knot looks proudly on the Crown, To her go I, a jolly thriving wooer. My Lord. Good or bad news, that thou comest in so bluntly?
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)
Well, let that reſt: Dorſet is fled to Richmond. I heare the newes, my Lord. Stanley, hee is your Wiues Sonne: well, looke vnto it. My Lord, I clayme the gift, my due by promiſe, For which your Honor and your Faith is pawn'd, Th' Earledome of Hertford, and the moueables, Which you haue promiſed I ſhall poſſeſſe. Stanley looke to your Wife: if ſhe conuey Letters to Richmond, you ſhall anſwer it. What ſayes your Highneſſe to my iuſt requeſt? I doe remember me, Henry the Sixt Did prophecie, that Richmond ſhould be King, When Richmond was a little peeuiſh Boy. A King perhaps. May it pleaſe you to reſolue me in my ſuit. Thou troubleſt me, I am not in the vaine. And is it thus? repayes he my deepe ſeruice With ſuch contempt? made I him King for this? O let me thinke on Haſtings, and be gone To Brecnock, while my fearefull Head is on. The tyrannous and bloodie Act is done, The moſt arch deed of pittious maſſacre That euer yet this Land was guilty of: Dighton and Forreſt, who I did ſuborne To do this peece of ruthfull Butchery, Albeit they were fleſht Villaines, bloody Dogges, Melted with tenderneſſe, and milde compaſſion, Wept like to Children, in their deaths ſad Story. O thus (quoth Dighton) lay the gentle Babes: Thus, thus (quoth Forreſt) girdling one another Within their Alablaſter innocent Armes: Their lips were foure red Roſes on a ſtalke, And in their Summer Beauty kiſt each other. A Booke of Prayers on their pillow lay, Which one (quoth Forrest) almoſt chang'd my minde: But oh the Diuell, there the Villaine ſtopt: When Dighton thus told on, we ſmothered The moſt repleniſhed ſweet worke of Nature, That from the prime Creation ere ſhe framed. Hence both are gone with Conſcience and Remorſe, They could not ſpeake, and ſo I left them both, To beare this tydings to the bloody King. And heere he comes. All health my Soueraigne Lord. Kinde Tirrell, am I happy in thy Newes. If to haue done the thing you gaue in charge, Be get your happineſſe, be happy then, For it is done. But did'ſt thou ſee them dead. I did my Lord. And buried gentle Tirrell. The Chaplaine of the Tower hath buried them, But where (to ſay the truth) I do not know. Come to me Tirrel ſoone, and after Supper, When thou ſhalt tell the proceſſe of their death. Meane time, but thinke how I may do the good, And be inheritor of thy deſire. Farewell till then. I humbly take my leaue. The Sonne of Clarence haue I pent vp cloſe, His daughter meanly haue I matcht in marriage, The Sonnes of Edward ſleepe in Abrahams boſome, And Anne my wife hath bid this world good night, Now for I know the Britaine Richmond aymes At yong Elizabeth my brothers daughter, And by that knot lookes proudly on the Crowne, To her go I, a iolly thriuing wooer. My Lord. Good or bad newes, that thou com'ſt in ſo bluntly?