The Famous History of Sir Thomas Wyatt · chunk 20 of 22
Heywood, Thomas / Dekker, Thomas / Chettle, Henry / Webster, John · published 1607 · first performed or written 1602 (Annals) history · Worcester's Men unassigned nearest T1 Death, grief and revenge · 481 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
Then hear the speedy sentence of your deaths, You shall be carried to the place from whence you came, from thence unto the place of Execution, through London to be drawn on Hurdles, Where thou Iane Grey shalt suffer death by fire. Thou Guilford Dudley hanged and quartered, So Lord have mercy upon you. Why this is well, since we must die, That we must die together. Stay and here the mercy of the Queen, Because you are of noble parentage, Although the crime of your offence be great, She is only pleased that you shall— Will she pardon us? Only I say that you shall lose your heads Upon the Tower-Hill, so convey them hence lieutenant strictly look into your charge. Our dooms are known, Our lives have played their part, Farewell my Iane. My Dudley, mine own heart. fain would I take a ceremonious leave, But that's to die a hundred thousand deaths: I cannot speak for tears. My Lord, come: Great griefs speak louder When the least are dumbed. The sad aspect, this prison doth afford, jumps with the measure that my heart doth keepe: And this enclosure here, of nought but stone, Yields far mòre comfort than the stony hearts Of them that wronged their country, and their friend Here is no perjured Counsellors to swear A sacred oath, and then forswear the same, No innovators here, doth harbour keep, A steadfast silence, doth possess the place, In this the Tower is noble being base. Sir Thomas Wyatt. That's my name indeed. You should say Traitor. Traitor and Wyatt's name, Differ as farre as Winchester and ho. I am a Pillar of the Mother Church. And what am I? One that subverts the state. Insult not too much, o'er th' unfortunate, I have no bishops Rochet to declare my innocency, This is my cross, that causeless I must suffer my heads loss. When that hour comes, wherein my blood is spilled, My cross will look as bright as yours twice guilt. Here's for that purpose. Is your grace so short? Belike you come to make my death a sport. We come to bring you to your execution, You must be hanged and quartered instantly: At the park Corner, it a gallous set, Whether make haste to tender nature's debt. Then here's the end of Wyatt's rising up, Ito was , Right willingly I yeelde my selfe to th, But sorry such, should have my place of birth. Had London kept his word, Wyatt had stood, But now King Philip enters through my blood. Where's the lieutenant of the Tower? Here my Lord. Fetch forth your other Prisoners. My Lord I will, here lies young Guilford, here the Lady Iane. Conduct them forth. Good morrow once more to my lovely Iane. The last good morrow my sweet love to thee. What were you reading? On a prayer book.
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 heare the speedye sentence of your deathes, You shall be carried to the place from whence you came, from thence vnto the place of Execution, through London to be drawne on Hurdles, Where thou Iane Gray shalt suffer death by fire. Thou GuilforId Dudley hang'd and quartered, So Lord haue mercie vpon you. VVhy this is well, since we must die, That wee must die together. Stay and heere the mercie of the Queene, Because you are of noble parentage, Although the crime of your offence be greate, Shee is onely pleased that you shall — Will shee pardon vs? Only I say that you shall loose your heads Vpon the Tower-Hill, so conuey them hence Leifetenant stricktly looke ynto your charge. Our doomes are knowne, Our liues haue plaide their parte, Farwell my Iane. My Dudley, owne heart. Faine would I take a serimonious leaue, But thats to die a hundred thousand death: I cannot speake for teares. My Lord, come: Great griefes speake louder When the least are dumb'd. The sad aspect, this prison doth , Iumpes with the measure that my heart dooth And this inclosure here, of naught but stone, Yeildes far mòre comfort then the stony hearts Of them that wrong'd their country, and their friend Heere is no peri Counsellors to sweare sacred oath, and th forsweare the same, No innovators heere, doth harbor keepe, A stedfast silence, doth possesse the place, In this the Tower is noble being base. Sir Thomas Wyat. Thats my name indeede. You should say Traitor. Traitor and Wyats name, Differ as farre as Winchester and ho. I am a Piller of the Mother Church. And what am I? One that subuerts the state. Insult not too much, oreth' vnfortunate, I haue no Bishoppes Rochet to declare my innocencie, This is my crosse, that causelesse I must suffer my heads losse. When that houre comes, wherein my blood is spilt, My crosse will looke as bright as yours twice guilt. Here's for that purpose. Is your grace so short? Belike you come to make my death a sport. VVe come to bring you to your execution, You must be hang'd and instantly: At the parke Corner, it a gallous set, Whether make hast to tender debt. Then the end of Wy rising vp, Ito was , Right willingly I yeelde my selfe to th, But sory such, should haue my place of birth. Had London kept his word, VVyat had ood, But now King Phillip enters through my blood. Wheres the Li of the Tower? Heere my Lord. Fetch foorth your other Prisoners. My Lord I will, heerelyes young Guilford, heere the Lady Iane. Conduct them . Good morrowe once more to my lolye Iane. The last good morrow my sweete loue to thee. VVhat were you reading? On a prayer booke.