Shakespeare, William · published 1600 · first performed or written 1597 [c.1597-1598] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 555 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
Yet for all this, say not that Percie's dead, I see a strange confession in thine eye, Thou shak'st thy head, and hold'st it fear or sin, To speak a truth: if he be slain, The tongue offends not that reports his death, And he doth sin that doth bely the dead, Not he which says the dead is not alive, Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Hath but a losing office, and his tongue Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, Remembered tolling a departing friend. I cannot think, my Lord, your son is dead▪ I am sorry I should force you to believe, That which I would to God I had not seen, But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, Rendering faint quittance, wearied, and out-breathd, To Harry Monmouth, whose swift wrath beat down The never daunted Percy to the earth, From whence with life he never more sprung up. In few his death, whose spirit lent a fire, Even to the dullest peasant in his camp, Being bruited once, took fire and heat away, From the best tempered courage in his troops, For from his mett●l was his party steeled, Which once in him abated, o● the rest Turned on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. And as the thing that's heavy in itself, Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed: So did our men, heavy in Hotspurs loss, Lend to this weight such lightnosse with their fear, That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim, Than did our soldiers aiming at their safety, Fly from the field: then was that noble Worcester, So soon ta'en prisoner, and that furious Scot, The bloody Douglas whose well labouring sword▪ Had three times slain th'appearance of the King, Can vail his stomach and did grace the shame Of those that turned their backs, and in his flight, Stumbling in fear, was took: the sum of all Is, that the King hath won, and hath sent out, A speedy power to encounter you my lord, Under the conduct of young Lancaster, And Westmoreland: this is the news at full. For this I shall have time enough to mourn▪ In poison there is physic, and these news, Having been well, that would have made me sick: Being sick, have (in some measure) made me well: And as the wretch whose feuer-weakned joints, Like strengthless hinges buckle ●●der life, Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire Out of his keeper's arms; even so my limbs, Weakened with grief being ●ow enraged with grief, Are thrice themselves: hence therefore thou nice crutch, A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel Must glove this hand and hence thou sickly co●●e, Thou art a guard too wanton for the head, Which princes, fleshy with conquest, aim to hit: Now bind my brows 〈◊〉 iron, and approach The raggedst hour 〈…〉 and Spite dare bring, To frown upon th' 〈◊〉 Northumberland, Let heaven kiss earth, now let not Nature's hand Keep the wild flood confined, let Order die, And let this world no longer be a stage, To feed contention in a lingering act: But let one spirit of the first borne Cain Reign in all bosoms, that each heart being set On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, And darkness be the burier of the dead.
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)
Yet for all this, say not that Percie's dead, I see a strange confession in thine eie, Thou shakst thy head, and holdst it feare or sinne, To speake a truth: if he be slaine, The tongne offends not that reports his death, And he doth sinne that doth belie the dead, Not he which saies the dead is not aliue, Yet the first bringer of vnwelcome newes Hath but a loosing office, and his tongue Sounds euer after as a ullen bell, Remembred tolling a departing friend. I cannot thinke, my Lord, your sonne is dead▪ I am sory I should force you to beleeue, That which I would to God I had not seene, But these mine eies saw him in bloudy state, Rendring faint quittance, wearied, and out-breathd, To Harry Monmouth, whose swift wrath beat downe The neuer daunted Percy to the earth, From whence with life he neuer more sprung vp. In few his death, whose spirite lent a fire, Euen to the dullest peasant in his campe, Being bruted once, tooke fire and heate away, From the best temperd courage in his troopes, For from his mettl was his party steeled, Which once in him abated, o the rest Turnd on themselues, like dull and heauy lead. And as the thing thats heauy in it selfe, Vpon enforcement flies with greatest speed: So did our men, heauy in Hot-spurs losse, Lend to this weight such lightnosse with their feare, That arrowes fled not swifter toward their ayme, Than did our souldiers aiming at their safetie, Fly from the field: then was that noble Worcester, So soone tane prisoner, and that furious Scot, The bloudy Douglas whose well labouring sword▪ Had three times slaine th'appearance of the King, an vaile his stomacke and did grace the shame Of those that turnd their backes, and in his flight, Stumbling in feare, was tooke: the summe of all Is, that the King hath wonne, and hath sent out, A speedy power to incounter you my lord, Vnder the conduct of yong Lancaster, And Westmerland: this is the news at ful. For this I shal haue time enough to mourne▪ In poison there is phisicke, and these newes, Hauing beene wel, that would haue made me sicke: Being sicke, haue (in some measure) made me wel: And as the wretch whose feuer-weakned ioynts, Like strengthlesse hinges buckle der life, Impacient of his fit, breakes lik fire Out of his keepers armes; euen so my limbes, Weakened with griefe being ow enragde with griefe, Are thrice themselues: hence therfore thou nice crutch, A scaly gauntlet now with ioynts of steele Must gloue this hand and hence thou sickly coe, Thou art a guard too wanton for the head, Which princes, flesh with conquest, ayme to hit: Now bind my browes yron, and approach The raggedst houre and Spight dare bring, To frowne vpon th' Northumberland, Let heauen kisse earth, now let not Natures hand Keepe the wild floud conind, let Order die, And let this world no longer be a stage, To feed contention in a lingring act: But let one spirite of the first borne Cain Raigne in all bosomes, that ech heart being set On bloudy courses, the rude sceane may end, And darknesse be the burier of the dead.