Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1592] (Annals) tragedy; history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Then by myself. Thyself, is selfe-misvsed. Now by the World. 'Tis full of thy foul wrongs. My Father's death. Thy life hath it dishonoured. Why then, by Heaven. Heaven's wrong is most of all: If thou didd'st fear to break an Oath with him, The unity the King my husband made, Thou hadst not broken, nor my Brothers died. If thou hadst feared to break an oath by him, Th' Imperial metal, circling now thy head, Had graced the tender temples of my Child, And both the Princes had been breathing here, Which now two tender Bedfellows for dust, Thy broken Faith hath made the prey for Worms. What canst thou swear by now. The time to come. That thou hast wronged in the time o'erpast: For I myself have many tears to wash Hereafter time, for time past, wronged by thee. The Children live, whose Fathers thou hast slaughtered, Ungoverned youth, to wail it with their age: The Parents live, whose Children thou hast butchered, Old barren Plants, to wail it with their Age. Swear not by time to come, for that thou hast Misused ere used, by times ill-vsed repast. As I intend to prosper, and repent: So thrive I in my dangerous Affairs Of hostile Arms: Myself, myself confound: Heaven, and Fortune bar me happy hours: Day, yield me not thy light; nor Night, thy rest. Be opposite all Planets of good luck To my proceeding, if with dear hearts love, Immaculate devotion, holy thoughts, I tender not thy beauteous Princely daughter. In her, consists my Happiness, and thine: Without her, follows to myself, and thee; Herself, the Land, and many a Christian soul, Death, Desolation, Ruin, and Decay: It cannot be avoided, but by this: It will not be avoided, but by this. Therefore dear Mother (I must call you so) Be the Attorney of my love to her: Plead what I will be, not what I have been; Not my deserts, but what I will deserve: Urge the Necessity and state of times, And be not peevish found, in great Designs. Shall I be tempted of the Devil thus? I, if the Devil tempt you to do good. Shall I forget myself, to be myself. I, if yourselves remembrance wrong yourself. Yet thou didst kill my Children. But in your daughter's womb I bury them. Where in that Nest of Spicery they will breed Selves of themselves, to your recomforture. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will? And be a happy Mother by the deed. I go, writ to me very shortly, And you shall understand from me her mind. Bear her my true love's kiss, and so farewell. Relenting Fool, and shallow-changing Woman. How now, what news? Most mighty Sovereign, on the Western Coast Rideth a puissant Navy: to our Shores Throng many doubtful hollowhearted friends, Unarmed, and unresolved to beat them back. 'Tis thought, that Richmond is their Admiral: And there they hull, expecting but the aid Of Buckingham, to welcome them ashore.
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)
Then by my Selfe. Thy Selfe, is ſelfe-miſvs'd. Now by the World. 'Tis full of thy foule wrongs. My Fathers death. Thy life hath it diſhonor'd. Why then, by Heauen. Heauens wrong is moſt of all: If thou didd'ſt feare to breake an Oath with him, The vnity the King my husband made, Thou had'ſt not broken, nor my Brothers died. If thou had'ſt fear'd to breake an oath by him, Th' Imperiall mettall, circling now thy head, Had grac'd the tender temples of my Child, And both the Princes had bene breathing heere, Which now two tender Bed-fellowes for duſt, Thy broken Faith hath made the prey for Wormes. What can'ſt thou ſweare by now. The time to come. That thou haſt wronged in the time ore-paſt: For I my ſelfe haue many teares to waſh Heereafter time, for time paſt, wrong'd by thee. The Children liue, whoſe Fathers thou haſt ſlaughter'd, Vngouern'd youth, to waile it with their age: The Parents liue, whoſe Children thou haſt butcher'd, Old barren Plants, to waile it with their Age. Sweare not by time to come, for that thou haſt Miſvs'd ere vs'd, by times ill-vs'd repaſt. As I entend to proſper, and repent: So thriue I in my dangerous Affayres Of hoſtile Armes: My ſelfe, my ſelfe confound: Heauen, and Fortune barre me happy houres: Day, yeeld me not thy light; nor Night, thy reſt. Be oppoſite all Planets of good lucke To my proceeding, if with deere hearts loue, Immaculate deuotion, holy thoughts, I tender not thy beautious Princely daughter. In her, conſiſts my Happineſſe, and thine: Without her, followes to my ſelfe, and thee; Her ſelfe, the Land, and many a Chriſtian ſoule, Death, Deſolation, Ruine, and Decay: It cannot be auoyded, but by this: It will not be auoyded, but by this. Therefore deare Mother (I muſt call you ſo) Be the Atturney of my loue to her: Pleade what I will be, not what I haue beene; Not my deſerts, but what I will deſerue: Vrge the Neceſſity and ſtate of times, And be not peeuiſh found, in great Deſignes. Shall I be tempted of the Diuel thus? I, if the Diuell tempt you to do good. Shall I forget my ſelfe, to be my ſelfe. I, if your ſelfes remembrance wrong your ſelfe. Yet thou didſt kil my Children. But in your daughters wombe I bury them. Where in that Neſt of Spicery they will breed Selues of themſelues, to your recomforture. Shall I go win my daughter to thy will? And be a happy Mother by the deed. I go, write to me very ſhortly, And you ſhal vnderſtand from me her mind. Beare her my true loues kiſſe, and ſo farewell. Relenting Foole, and ſhallow-changing Woman. How now, what newes? Moſt mightie Soueraigne, on the Weſterne Coaſt Rideth a puiſſant Nauie: to our Shores Throng many doubtfull hollow-hearted friends, Vnarm'd, and vnreſolu'd to beat them backe. 'Tis thought, that Richmond is their Admirall: And there they hull, expecting but the aide Of Buckingham, to welcome them aſhore.