Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1592] (Annals) tragedy; history · Derby's (Strange's) Men (?) T43 York and Lancaster: dynastic claims and typicality 0.75 · 505 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T43: henry, king, richard, warwick, york, edward, father, duke, crown, son.
Some lightfoot friend post to the Duke of Norfolk: Ratcliff thyself, or Catesby, where is he? Here, my good Lord. Catesby, fly to the Duke. I will, my Lord, with all convenient haste. Catesby come hither, post to Salisbury: When thou comest thither: Dull unmindful Villain, Why stayest thou here, and go'st not to the Duke? First, mighty Liege, tell me your Highness' pleasure, What from your Grace I shall deliver to him. O true, good Catesby, bid him levy strait The greatest strength and power that he can make, And meet me suddenly at Salisbury. I go. What, may it please you, shall I do at Salisbury? Why, what wouldst thou do there, before I go? Your Highness told me I should post before. My mind is changed: Stanley, what news with you? None, good my Liege, to please you with the hearing, Nor none so bad, but well may be reported. Heyday, a Riddle, neither good nor bad: What needest thou run so many miles about, When thou mayest tell thy Tale the nearest way? Once more, what news? Richmond is on the Seas. There let him sink, and be the Seas on him, White-livered Runagate, what doth he there? I know not, mighty Sovereign, but by guess. Well, as you guess. Stirred up by Dorset, Buckingham, and Morton, He makes for England, here to claim the Crown. Is the Chair empty? is the Sword unswayed? Is the King dead? the Empire unpossessed? What Heir of York is there alive, but we? And who is England's King, but great York's Heir? Then tell me, what makes he upon the Seas? Unless for that, my Liege, I cannot guess. Unless for that he comes to be your Liege, You cannot guess wherefore the Welshman comes. Thou wilt revolt, and fly to him, I fear. No, my good Lord, therefore mistrust me not. Where is thy Power then, to beat him back? Where be thy Tenants, and thy followers? Are they not now upon the Western Shore, Safe-conducting the Rebels from their Ships? No, my good Lord, my friends are in the North. Cold friends to me: what do they in the North, When they should serve their Sovereign in the West? They have not been commanded, mighty King: Pleaseth your Majesty to give me leave, I'll muster up my friends, and meet your Grace, Where, and what time your Majesty shall please. I, thou wouldst be gone, to join with Richmond: But I'll not trust thee. Most mighty Sovereign, You have no cause to hold my friendship doubtful, I never was, nor never will be false. Go then, and muster men: but leave behind Your Son George Stanley: look your heart be firm, Or else his Heads assurance is but frail. So deal with him, as I prove true to you. My gracious Sovereign, now in Devonshire, As I by friends am well advertised, Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughty Prelate, Bishop of Exeter, his elder Brother, With many more Confederates, are in Arms.
seed 43: T8 · seed 44: T50 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Some light-foot friend poſt to ye Duke of Norfolk: Ratcliffe thy ſelfe, or Catesby, where is hee? Here, my good Lord. Catesby, flye to the Duke. I will, my Lord, with all conuenient haſte. Catesby come hither, poſte to Salisbury: When thou com'ſt thither: Dull vnmindfull Villaine, Why ſtay'ſt thou here, and go'ſt not to the Duke? Firſt, mighty Liege, tell me your Highneſſe pleaſure, What from your Grace I ſhall deliuer to him. O true, good Catesby, bid him leuie ſtraight The greateſt ſtrength and power that he can make, And meet me ſuddenly at Salisbury. I goe. What, may it pleaſe you, ſhall I doe at Salisbury? Why, what would'ſt thou doe there, before I goe? Your Highneſſe told me I ſhould poſte before. My minde is chang'd: Stanley, what newes with you? None, good my Liege, to pleaſe you with ye hearing, Nor none ſo bad, but well may be reported. Hoyday, a Riddle, neither good nor bad: What need'ſt thou runne ſo many miles about, When thou mayeſt tell thy Tale the neereſt way? Once more, what newes? Richmond is on the Seas. There let him ſinke, and be the Seas on him, White-liuer'd Runnagate, what doth he there? I know not, mightie Soueraigne, but by gueſſe. Well, as you gueſſe. Stirr'd vp by Dorſet, Buckingham, and Morton, He makes for England, here to clayme the Crowne. Is the Chayre emptie? is the Sword vnſway'd? Is the King dead? the Empire vnpoſſeſt? What Heire of Yorke is there aliue, but wee? And who is Englands King, but great Yorkes Heire? Then tell me, what makes he vpon the Seas? Vnleſſe for that, my Liege, I cannot gueſſe. Vnleſſe for that he comes to be your Liege, You cannot gueſſe wherefore the Welchman comes. Thou wilt reuolt, and flye to him, I feare. No, my good Lord, therefore miſtruſt me not. Where is thy Power then, to beat him back? Where be thy Tenants, and thy followers? Are they not now vpon the Weſterne Shore, Safe-conducting the Rebels from their Shippes? No, my good Lord, my friends are in the North. Cold friends to me: what do they in the North, When they ſhould ſerue their Soueraigne in the Weſt? They haue not been commanded, mighty King: Pleaſeth your Maieſtie to giue me leaue, Ile muſter vp my friends, and meet your Grace, Where, and what time your Maieſtie ſhall pleaſe. I, thou would'ſt be gone, to ioyne with Richmond: But Ile not truſt thee. Moſt mightie Soueraigne, You haue no cauſe to hold my friendſhip doubtfull, I neuer was, nor neuer will be falſe. Goe then, and muſter men: but leaue behind Your Sonne George Stanley: looke your heart be firme, Or elſe his Heads aſſurance is but fraile. So deale with him, as I proue true to you. My gracious Soueraigne, now in Deuonſhire, As I by friends am well aduertiſed, Sir Edward Courtney, and the haughtie Prelate, Biſhop of Exeter, his elder Brother, With many moe Confederates, are in Armes.