Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1591 [1590-1591] (Annals) history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T31 Popes, cardinals and the crown · 487 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T31: cardinal, pope, king, lord, majesty, holy, rome, france, church, lords.
Doth Arthur live? O hast thee to the Peers, Throw this report on their incensed rage, And make them tame to their obedience. Forgive the Comment that my passion made Upon thy feature, for my rage was blind, And foul immaginarie eyes of blood Presented thee more hideous than thou art. Oh, answer not; but to my Closet bring The angry Lords, with all expedient haste, I conjure thee but slowly: run more fast. The Wall is high, and yet will I leap down. Good ground be pitiful, and hurt me not: There's few or none do know me, if they did, This Shipboys semblance hath disguised me quite. I am afraid, and yet I'll venture it. If I get down, and do not break my limbs, I'll find a thousand shifts to get away; As good to dye, and go; as dye, and stay. Oh me, my Uncle's spirit is in these stones, Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones. Lords, I will meet him at S. Edmondsbury, It is our safety, and we must embrace This gentle offer of the perilous time. Who brought that Letter from the Cardinal? The Count Meloone, a Noble Lord of France, Whose private with me of the Dolphines love, Is much more general, than these lines import. To morrow morning let us meet him then. Or rather than set forward, for 'twill be Two long days journey (Lords) or ere we meet. Once more to day well met, distempered Lords, The King by me requests your presence strait. The king hath dispossessed himself of us, We will not line his thin-bestained cloak With our pure Honours: nor attend the foot. That leaves the print of blood where ere it walks. Return, and tell him so: we know the worst. What ere you think, good words I think were best. Our griefs, and not our manners reason now. But there is little reason in your grief. Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now. Sir, sir, impatience hath his privilege. 'Tis true, to hurt his master, no man's else. This is the prison: What is he lies here? Oh death, made proud with pure & princely beauty, The earth had not a hole to hide this deed. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, Doth lay it open to urge on revenge. Or when he doomed this Beauty to a grave, Found it too precious Princely, for a grave. Sir Richard, what think you? you have beheld, Or have you read, or heard, or could you think? Or do you almost think, although you see, That you do see? Can thought, without this object Form such another? This is the very top, The height, the Crest: or Crest unto the Crest Of murders Arms: This is the bloodiest shame, The wildest savagery, the vildest stroke That ever wall-eyed wrath, or staring rage Presented to the tears of soft remorse.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T8 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Doth Arthur liue? O haſt thee to the Peeres, Throw this report on their incenſed rage, And make them tame to their obedience. Forgiue the Comment that my paſſion made Vpon thy feature, for my rage was blinde, And foule immaginarie eyes of blood Preſented thee more hideous then thou art. Oh, anſwer not; but to my Cloſſet bring▪ The angry Lords, with all expedient haſt, I coniure thee but ſlowly: run more faſt. The Wall is high, and yet will I leape downe. Good ground be pittifull, and hurt me not: There's few or none do know me, if they did, This Ship-boyes ſemblance hath diſguis'd me quite. I am afraide, and yet Ile venture it. If I get downe, and do not breake my limbes, Ile finde a thouſand ſhifts to get away; As good to dye, and go; as dye, and ſtay. Oh me, my Vnckles ſpirit is in theſe ſtones, Heauen take my ſoule, and England keep my bones. Lords, I will meet him at S. Edmondsbury, It is our ſafetie, and we muſt embrace This gentle offer of the perillous time. Who brought that Letter from the Cardinall? The Count Meloone, a Noble Lord of France, Whoſe priuate with me of the Dolphines loue, Is much more generall, then theſe lines import. To morrow morning let vs meete him then. Or rather then ſet forward, for 'twill be Two long dayes iourney (Lords) or ere we meete. Once more to day well met, diſtemper'd Lords, The King by me requeſts your preſence ſtraight. The king hath diſpoſſeſt himſelfe of vs, We will not lyne his thin-beſtained cloake▪ With our pure Honors: nor attend the foote. That leaues the print of blood where ere it walkes. Returne, and tell him ſo: we know the worſt. What ere you thinke, good words I thinke were beſt. Our greefes, and not our manners reaſon now. But there is little reaſon in your greefe. Therefore 'twere reaſon you had manners now. Sir, ſir, impatience hath his priuiledge. 'Tis tue, to hurt his maſter, no mans elſe. This is the priſon: What is he lyes heere? Oh death, made proud with pure & princely beuty, The earth had not a hole to hide this deede. Murther, as hating what himſelfe hath done, Doth lay it open to vrge on reuenge. Or when he doom'd this Beautie to a graue, Found it too precious Princely, for a graue. Sir Richard, what thinke you? you haue beheld, Or haue you read, or heard, or could you thinke? Or do you almoſt thinke, although you ſee, That you do ſee? Could thought, without this obiect Forme ſuch another? This is the very top, The heighth, the Creſt: or Creſt vnto the Creſt Of murthers Armes: This is the bloodieſt ſhame, The wildeſt Saagery, the vildeſt ſtroke That euer wall-ey'd wrath, or ſtaring rage Preſented to the teares of ſoft remorſe.