The Conspiracy (Pallantus and Eudora) · chunk 4 of 63
Killigrew, Henry · published 1638 · first performed or written 1635 [Jan 8(?)] (Annals) tragedy · King's Men T25 Kings, power and law: political sententi typicality 0.77 · 512 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T25: feare, kings, power, princes, lawes, loue, state, downe, honor, men.
Fit Lectures for such a Sholler. Well Comastes, thou shalt not want for a coat, if that will do't. Send me a mind to with it, and you have not a greater present for your neighbour Princes. Come my Lords, let's sit and fill up our cups, Make them like our joys, still full, and flowing, Thus it should be my Lords in a State that Knows no troubles, let unhappy Princes, Whom losses do afflict, and fears affright, Make yearly feasts: But we, whose even affairs Do follow one another, and do keep There just Periods, though the reins are loose And their guide sleep, seeming rather, so to Have fallen out, than so caused; each day shall be a triumph, each hour a feast. we may chance to find one out for Funerals. A health to all, and a long peace. You are melancholy Aratus. You are rude Comastes, and let me tell you— His Lordship is one of those which say their Prayers backward for the State, and ends in black wishes. You are the Foxes that thrive by it. Phro. Aratus your anger is unseasonable, and the King marks it. How now Aratus, what's the matter? our table should know no frowns, than least of all when we ourself forbears them. Royal Sir I ask your pardon, he waked me something rudely, and got a froward answer. What, all dead, fill another round, our wine moves not, here Polyander, to thee, what thinkst thou of Comastes happiness? I think Sir, 'tis as dull as foolish, there cannot be a sense of pleasure, where there is so little sense. Greatness is the centre of all happiness, and felicity like our lands, at first is tied to the Crown, kings come ne'er unto the gods, and are like them both in power and pleasure, do command all, enjoy all, are miserable only in too much, and want but what to wish for, this is the dazzling happiness. 'tis vain therefore to prefer private joys before the Crown-pleasures, the King may throw by his greatness when he please, and be poorly happy, the beggar will ne'er sigh unto a Sceptre. Why I Polyander there's some life in this, a little heaven even in the apprehension. Aratus art not thou of this opinion? Not I Sir, nor of my Lord the fool's there, Kings are more miserable than they seem Happy, flattered by themselves and others Into a joy that is not, and what they Feel, they rather do believe, than find so. Yet I grant too, a King may be happy But never as a King. Felicity Is a purchase, and no inheritance, Nor hath the prerogative more than one Life in't neither, it dies still with the buyer, Troubles are the good king's profession, In the wars the first dart is thrown at him, Where his happiness is in a glorious death, Or else his Godlike rays plucked from him By some accursed hand, and so falls less Happy, being but wished so by a poor Revenge he knows not.
seed 43: T25 · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Fit Lectures for such a Sholler. Well Comastes, thou shalt not want for a coate, if that will doe't. Send me a minde to with it, and you have not a greater present for your neighbour Princes. Come my Lords, let's sit and fill up our cups, Make them like our joyes, still full, and flowing, Thus it should be my Lords in a State that Knowes no troubles, let unhappy Princes, Whom losses doe afflict, and feares affright, Make yearely feasts: But wee, whose even affaires Doe follow one another, and doe keepe There just Periods, though the reines are loose And their guide sleepe, seeming rather, so to Have fallen out, than so caus'd; each day shall Bee a triumph, each houre a feast. Wee may chance to finde one out for Funeralls. A health to all, and a long peace. You are mellancholly Aratus. You are rude Comastes, and let me tell you— His Lordship is one of those which say their Prayers backward for the State, and ends in black wishes. You are the Foxes that thrive by it. Phro. Aratus your anger is unseasonable, and the King marks it. How now Aratus, whats the matter? our table should know no frownes, then least of all when we our selfe forbeares them. Royall Sir I aske your pardon, hee wakt mee something rudely, and got a froward answer. What, all dead, fill another round, our wine moves not, here Polyander, to thee, what thinkst thou of Comastes happines? I thinke Sir, 'tis as dull as foolish, there cannot bee a sence of pleasure, where there is so little sence. Greatnesse is the center of all happinesse, and felicity like our lands, at first is tyed to the Crowne, kings come nere unto the gods, and are like them both in power and pleasure, doe command all, enjoy all, are miserable onely in too much, and want but what to wish for, this is the dazeling happinesse. Tis vaine therefore to preferre private joyes before the Crowne-pleasures, the King may throw by his greatnesse when he please, and be poorely happy, the beggar will nere sigh unto a Scepter. Why I Polyander ther's some life in this, a little heaven even in the apprehension. Aratus art not thou of this opinion? Not I Sir, nor of my Lord the Foole's there, Kings are more miserable than they seeme Happy, flattered by themselves and others Into a Ioy that is not, and what they Feele, they rather doe beleeve, than finde so. Yet I grant too, a King may be happy But never as a King. Felicity Is a purchase, and no inheritance, Nor hath the prerogative more than one Life in't neither, it dies still with the buyer, Troubles are the good kings profession, In the warres the first dart is throwne at him, Where his happinesse is in a glorious death, Or else his God-like rayes pluckt from him By some accursed hand, and so falls lesse Happie, being but wishd so by a poore Revenge hee knowes not.