The Royal King and the Loyal Subject · chunk 7 of 39
Heywood, Thomas · published 1637 · first performed or written 1602 [1602-1618] (Annals) romance · Unknown T14 Royal love, favour and dynastic relation typicality 0.80 · 498 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T14: prince, princess, love, king, lord, queen, madam, grace, lady, life.
In the Tournament Made by the Prince your son, when he was Peerless, And without equal, this ambitious martial Strives to exceed, and did; but when he saw Your Highness moved to see the Prince disgraced, He lost the Prize; but how? that all the people Might see it given, not forfeit, which did add Rather than derogate: briefly my Lord, His courtesy is all ambition. And well it may be; is he not our vassal? Why should the martial then contend with us. To exceed in any virtue? we observe him. His popularity, how affable He's to the people; his Hospitality, Which adds unto his love; his forwardness, To entertain Ambassadors, and feast them, Which though he doit upon his proper charge, And for our honour, yet it may be thought A smoothness, and a cunning, to grow great; It must be so. A project we intend To prove him faithless, or a perfect friend. It takes, these jealous thoughts we must pursue, And to his late doubts still add something new. Your speech being ended, now comes in my cue. My honourable Lord. What beggar's this? Beggar my Lord? I never begged of you: But were I a beggar, I might be a courtier's fellow: Could I beg suits my Lord as well as you, I need not go thus clad; or were you free From begging as I am, you might rank me. Comparisons? Away. Folly and pride In Silks and Lace their imperfections show, But let pure virtue come in garments torn To beg relief she gets a courtly scorn: My Lord you know me? I have seen that face. Why 'tis the same it was, it is no changeling, It bears the selfsame front; 'tis not like yours, Paled with the least disgrace, or passed with brags, That smiles upon gay clothes, and frowns on rags. Mine's steadfast as the Sun, and free as Fate; Whose equal eyes look upon want and state. And doth not mine so too? Pray what's your business? Only that you would know me: the king's favour hath made you a Baron, and the king's wars have made me a bare one: there's less difference in the Accent of the word, than in the cost of our weeds: This is the same face you were once acquainted with though not the same habit: I could know your face, though your diseased body were wrapped in sheepskins. This fellow offends me. Go churl, pass free, Thou know'st my forfeit lands, though forgettest me: Nay, you would be going too, you are as afraid of a torne suit, as a younger brother of a Sergeant, a rich corn-master of a plentiful year, or a troublesome attorney to hear of suits put to compromise. Sir. I must challenge you, you are my kinsman; My grandsire was the first that raised the name Of Bonvile to this height, but Lord to see That you are grown a Lord, and know not me.
seed 43: T14 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
In the Turnament Made by the Prince your sonne, when he was Peerelesse, And without equall, this ambitious Martiall Strives to exceed, and did; but when he saw Your Highnesse moov'd to see the Prince disgrac't, He lost the Prize; but how? that all the people Might see it given, not forfiet, which did adde Rather than derogate: briefly my Lord, His courtesie is all ambition. And well it may be; is he not our vassall? Why should the Martiall then contend with us. To exceed in any vertue? we observe him. His popularity, how affable He's to the people; his Hospitality, Which addes unto his love; his forwardnesse, To entertaine Embassadors, and feast them, Which though he doo ' upon his proper charge, And for our honour, yet it may be thought A smoothnesse, and a cunning, to grow great; It must be so. A project we intend To proove him faithlesse, or a perfect friend. It takes, these jealous thoughts we must pursue, And to his late doubts still adde something new. Your speech being ended, now comes in my cue. My honourable Lord. What begger's this? Beggar my Lord? I never begg'd of you: But were I a begger, I might be a Courtiers fellow: Could I begge suites my Lord as well as you, I need not goe thus clad; or were you free From begging as I am, you might ranke me. Comparisons? Away. Folly and pride In Silkes and Lace their imperfections shew, But let pre vertue come in garments torne To begge reliefe she gets a courtly scorne: My Lord you know me? I have seene that face. Why 'tis the same it was, it is no changeling, It beares the selfe-same front; 'tis not like yours, Paled with the least disgrace, or past with bragges, That smiles upon gay cloaths, and frownes on rags. Mine's stedfast as the Sunne, and free as ; Whose equall eyes looke upon want and state. And doth not mine so too? Pray wat's your busines? Onely that you would know me: the Kngs favour hath made you a Baron, and the Kings warres have made me a bare one: there's lesse difference in the Accent of the word, than in the cost of our weeds: This is the same face you were once acquainted with though not the same habite: I could know your face, though your diseas'd body were wrapt in sheepe-skins. This fellow offends me. Goe churle, pase free, Thou knowst my forfeit lands, though forget'st me: Nay, you would be going too, you are as affaid of a torne suite, as a younger brother of a Serjeant, a rich corne-master of a plentifull yeere, or a troublesome Attourney to heare of suits put to compremize. Sir. I must challenge you, you are my kinsman; My Grandsir was the first that rais'd the name Of Bonvile to this height, but Lord to see That you are growne a Lord, and know not me.