The Royal King and the Loyal Subject · chunk 11 of 39
Heywood, Thomas · published 1637 · first performed or written 1602 [1602-1618] (Annals) romance · Unknown unassigned nearest T51 Parents and children: blessing, birthrig · 498 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T51: esau, iacob, father, son, isaac, god, love, birthright, parents, thing.
Why god a-mercy Wench: come sirrah. Here's a short horse soon curried. Is this your sweetheart? I had need wish you much joy, for I see but a little towards: Where did you take him up by the highway, or did you not fall in love with him hanging on a Gibbet? What is he for heaven's sake? can no man give him his true character? I can my Lord, he's of a noble House, A Bonvile, and great Heir; but being profuse, And lavish in his nonage, spent the most Of his known means, and hoping now at last To raise his fortunes by the wars now ceased, His hopes have failed him, yet we know him valiant And fortunate in service. One whose mind No fortune can deject, no favour raise Above his virtue's pitch. If he be such, we'll move the King in his behalf, and help To cherish his good parts. My Lord the Prince, The King calls for you; for he dines today In the great Hall with great solemnity, And his best state: Lord martial, you this day Must use your place, and wait, so all the Lords. Come, we'll go see the King. I shall attend your Grace. And in faith Lady can you be in love with this rag of honour? Madam, you know I am my Father's heir, My possibilities may raise his hopes To their first height: should I despise my hand In a torne glove, or taste a poisonous draught Because presented in a Cup of Gold? Virtue will last when wealth flies, and is gone: Let me drink Nectar though in earth or stone. But say your Father now, as many Fathers are, prove a true worldling, and rather than bestow thee on one dejected, disinherit thee? how then? My Father is my Father, but my Husband, He is myself: my resolution is To profess constancy, and keep mine honour; And rather than to Queen it where I hate, Beg where I love: I wish no better fate. By my faith good counsel; if I live long enough, It may be I may have the grace to follow it. This Anniversary do we yearly keep In memory of our late victories. In joy of which we make a public feast, And banquet all our Peers thus openly. Sit Lords, those only we appoint to wait, Attend us for this day: and now to crown Our Festival, we will begin this health. Who's that so near our elbow? Martial? you? Stand off we wish you, further. Me my Lord? ay you my Lord. Your highness' will's a law, I shall obey. You are too near us yet: what are we King, Or have we countermanders? Note you that? Now it begins. I fear some Sycophants Have dealt ignobly with us to the King: No matter I am armed with innocence, And that dares front all danger. Lords this Health: See it go round, 'twas to our victory.
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)
Why god amerey Wench: come sirrah. Here's a short horse soone curryed. Is this your sweet-heart? I had need wish you much joy, for I see but a little towards: Where did you take him up by the hye-way, or did you not fall in love with him hanging on a Gibbet? What is he for Heavens sake? can no man give him his true character? I can my Lord, he's of a noble House, A Bonvile, and great Hre; but being profuse, And lavish in his nonage, spent the most Of his knowne meanes, and hoping now at last To raise his fortunes by the warres now ceast, His hopes have faild him, yet we know him valiant And fortunate in service. One whose minde No fortune can deject, no favour raise Above his vertues pitch. If he be such, Wee'le move the King in his behalfe, and helpe To cherish his good parts. My Lord the Prince, The King calls for you; for he dines to day In the great Hall with great solemnity, And his best state: Lord Martiall, you this day Must use your place, and waite, so all the Lords. Come, wee'le goe see the King. I shall attend your Grace. And in faith Lady can you be in love with this ragge of honour? Madam, you know I am my Fathers heire, My possibilities may raise his hopes To their first height: should I despise my hand In a torne glove, or taste a poysonous draught Because presented in a Cup of Gold? Vertue will last when wealth flyes, and is gone: Let me drinke Nectar though in earth or stone. But say your Father now, as many Fathers are, proove a true worldling, and rather than bestow thee on one dejected, dis-inherite thee? how then? My Father is my Father, but my Husband, He is my selfe: my resolution is To professe constancy, and keepe mine honour; And rather than to Queene it where I hate, Begge where I love: I wish no better fate. By my faith good counsell; if I live long enough, It may be I may have the grace to follow it. This Anniversary doe we yeerely keepe In memory of our late victories. In joy of which we make a publicke feast, And banquet all our Peres thus openly. Sit Lords, those onely we appoint to waite, Attend us for this day: and now to crowne Our Festivall, we will begin this health. Who's that so neare ouelbow? Martiall? you? Stand off we wish you, further. Me my Lord? Ey you my Lord. Your Highnesse will's a law, I shall obey. You are too neare us yet: what are we King, Or have we countermanders? Note you that? Now it begins. I feare some Sycophants Have dealt ignobly with us to the King: No matter I am arm'd with innocence, And that dares front all danger. Lords this Health: See it goe round, 'twas to our victory.