Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1591 [1590-1591] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 502 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
The colour of the King doth come, and go Between his purpose and his conscience, Like Heralds 'twixt two dreadful battles set: His passion is so ripe, it needs must break. And when it breaks, I fear will issue thence The foul corruption of a sweet child's death. We cannot hold mortalities strong hand. Good Lords, although my will to give, is living, The suit which you demand is gone, and dead. He tells us Arthur is deceased to night. Indeed we feared his sickness was past cure. Indeed we heard how near his death he was, Before the child himself felt he was sick: This must be answered either here, or hence. Why do you bend such solemn brows on me? Think you I bear the Shears of destiny? Have I commandment on the pulse of life? It is apparent foule-play, and 'tis shame That Greatness should so grossly offer it; So thrive it in your game, and so farewell. Stay yet (Lord Salisbury) I'll go with thee, And find th' inheritance of this poor child, His little kingdom of a forced grave. That blood which owed the breadth of all this I'll, Three foot of it doth hold; bad world the while: This must not be thus borne, this will break out To all our sorrows, and ere long I doubt. They burn in indignation: I repent: There is no sure foundation set on blood: No certain life achieved by others death: A fearful eye thou hast. Where is that blood, That I have seen inhabit in those cheeks? So foul a sky, clears not without a storm, Pour down thy weather: how goes all in France? From France to England, never such a power For any foreign preparation, Was levied in the body of a land. The Copy of your speed is learned by them: For when you should be told they do prepare, The tidings comes, that they are all arrived. Oh where hath our Intelligence been drunk? Where hath it slept? Where is my Mother's care? That such an Army could be drawn in France, And she not hear of it? My Liege, her ear Is stopped with dust: the first of April died Your noble mother; and as I hear, my Lord, The Lady Constance in a frenzy died Three days before: but this from Rumour's tongue I idly heard: if true, or false I know not. Withhold thy speed, dreadful Occasion: O make a league with me, till I have pleased My discontented Peers. What? Mother dead? How wildly then walks my Estate in France? Under whose conduct came those powers of France, That thou for truth giv'st out are landed here? Under the Dolphin. Thou hast made me giddy With these ill tidings: Now? What says the world To your proceed? Do not seek to stuff My head with more ill news: for it is full. But if you be a-feard to hear the worst, Then let the worst un-heard, fall on your head.
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)
The colour of the King doth come, and go Betweene his purpoſe and his conſcience, Like Heralds 'twixt two dreadfull battailes ſet: His paſsion is ſo ripe, it needs muſt breake. And when it breakes, I feare will iſſue thence The foule corruption of a ſweet childes death. We cannot hold mortalities ſtrong hand. Good Lords, although my will to giue, is liuing, The ſuite which you demand is gone, and dead. He tels vs Arthur is deceas'd to night. Indeed we fear'd his ſickneſſe was paſt cure. Indeed we heard how neere his death he was, Before the childe himſelfe felt he was ſicke: This muſt be anſwer'd either heere, or hence. Why do you bend ſuch ſolemne browes on me? Thinke you I beare the Sheeres of deſtiny? Haue I commandement on the pulſe of life? It is apparant foule-play, and 'tis ſhame That Greatneſſe ſhould ſo groſſely offer it; So thriue it in your game, and ſo farewell. Stay yet (Lord Salisbury) Ile go with thee, And finde th' inheritance of this poore childe, His little kingdome of a forced graue. That blood which ow'd the bredth of all this Ile, Three foot of it doth hold; bad world the while: This muſt not be thus borne, this will breake out To all our ſorrowes, and ere long I doubt. They burn in indignation: I repent: There is no ſure foundation ſet on blood: No certaine life atchieu'd by others death: A fearefull eye thou haſt. Where is that blood, That I haue ſeene inhabite in thoſe cheekes? So foule a skie, cleeres not without a ſtorme, Poure downe thy weather: how goes all in France? From France to England, neuer ſuch a powre For any forraigne preparation, Was leuied in the body of a land. The Copie of your ſpeede is learn'd by them: For when you ſhould be told they do prepare, The tydings comes, that they are all arriu'd. Oh where hath our Intelligence bin drunke? Where hath it ſlept? Where is my Mothers care? That ſuch an Army could be drawne in France, And ſhe not heare of it? My Liege, her eare Is ſtopt with duſt: the firſt of Aprill di'de Your noble mother; and as I heare, my Lord, The Lady Conſtance in a frenzie di'de Three dayes before: but this from Rumors tongue I idely heard: if true, or falſe I know not. With-hold thy ſpeed, dreadfull Occaſion: O make a league with me, 'till I haue pleas'd My diſcontented Peeres. What? Mother dead? How wildely then walkes my Eſtate in France? Vnder whoſe conduct came thoſe powres of France, That thou for truth giu'ſt out are landed heere? Vnder the Dolphin. Thou haſt made me giddy With theſe ill tydings: Now? What ſayes the world To your proceedings? Do not ſeeke to ſtuffe My head with more ill newes: for it is full. But if you be a-feard to heare the worſt, Then let the worſt vn-heard, fall on your head.