The Seven Champions of Christendom · chunk 17 of 43
Kirke, John · published 1638 · first performed or written 1635 [1634-1638] (Annals) romance · Red Bull Company (second) · Red Bull unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
I now admire and love this venture in him: Well done young twig of a most Royal bough, Thou hast won our losses, which we must allow. Hark, the third charge is begun. I do not like that sound, whatever accident Betides, Arbasto hath not lost but won renown: Now, what news bringst thou? Set open your ears to entertain sad news, I sing the latest Requiem of our Prince, he's slain. fall'n I believe, but yet I hope not slain. This whetstone makes revenges edge more keen: Go forward good mischance. Twice met this brave young Prince the British Knights, And bore his body stiff against his shock, Unmoved of either stirrup or of saddle, Their shivered Lances quarreled as they broke, And as they upward flew, clashed strong together, And he unmoved, undaunted twice appeared As fair for Victor as his stout opponent, And had he rested there, he had equal shared The days bright honour with him. Well, the disaster. Bowing his plumed head unto his Sire, Who sent him smiles of joys encouragement, Addressed him for the third, and last Career: The Christian Knight likewise 'gan couch his Lance, But as he grasped it in his manly fist, An angry fire circled about his eyes, And from the furrows of his brows Revenge Leapt forth, and seizes on the Prince: They charged, he fell, and in the fall his neck He broke; so ends my heavy Nuntius. The Prince! So Honour sprung a bud, and blasted it Before it grew to his maturity; Noble Prince, I pity thy misfortune, more, the Knights; And I for this condemn nimble mischance, But not the Knight at all. Murderous villain, if my brains can invent torture Sufficient, sufficient; here begins thy hell, And I thy first devil. And I will second be how to prevent ye. Set down the broken column of mine age, The golden Anchor, Hope, once showed to me, Hath split and sunk the vessel held my wealth: Oh my Arbasto. Take comfort Royal sir, Fame stories few are living; more the dead, Death hath but rocked him then on honour's bed: Then let him sleep. he's a good Physician that can quite kill grief, That hath but newly made his patient of me: Tears must give vent first to the oppressed heart, And Time lay drawing plasters to the sore, Before he can find ease, but yet I thank ye. Most Noble Sir, Tears shows effeminate in noble spirits, Those aged sluices want that Rain that falls, Bewail him not with tears, but with revenge; If drops must needs be spilled, let 'em be blood. His blood that wilfully sheds blood, The Law of Nations wisely did allow All jousts and Tournaments in princes' Courts, For honour's cause to break a friendly staff, But not to make a butchery or shambles in Court lists: Therefore if I might of his jury be, My Verdict should be given up, he must die.
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)
I now admire and love this venture in him: Well done young twig of a moſt Royall bough, Thou haſt wonne our loſſes, which we muſt allow. Heark, the third charge is begun. I doe not like that ſound, what ever accident Betides, Arbaſto hath not loſt but wonne renowne: Now, what newes bringſt thou? Set ope your eares to entertaine ſad news, I ſing the lateſt Requiem of our Prince, hee's ſlaine. Falne I beleeve, but yet I hope not ſlaine. This whet-ſtone makes revenges edge more keene: Goe forward good miſchance. Twice met this brave young Prince the Brittiſh Knights, And bore his body ſtiffe againſt his ſhock, Vnmov'd of either ſtirrop or of ſaddle, Their ſhiver'd Launces quarrell'd as they brake, And as they upward flew, claſht ſtrong together, And he unmov'd, undanted twice appear'd As faire for Victor as his ſtout opponent, And had he reſted there, he had equall ſhar'd The dayes bright honour with him. Well, the diſaſter. Bowing his plumed head unto his Syre, Who ſent him ſmiles of joyes incouragement, Addreſt him for the third, and laſt Careere: The Chriſtian Knight likewiſe 'gan couch his Lance, But as he graſpt it in his manly fiſt, An angry fire circled about his eyes, And from the furrows of his browes Revenge Leapt forth, and ſeizes on the Prince: They charg'd, he fell, and in the fall his neck He broke; ſo ends my heavy Nuntius. The Prince! So Honour ſprung a bud, and blaſted it Before it grew to his maturity; Noble Prince, I pitty thy misfortune, more, the Knights; And I for this condemne nimble miſchance, But not the Knight at all. Murderous villain, if my braines can invent torture Sufficient, ſufficient; here begins thy hell, And I thy firſt devill. And I will ſecond be how to prevent yee. Set downe the broken columne of mine age, The golden Anchor, Hope, once ſhewed to me, Hath ſplit and ſunke the veſſell held my wealth: Oh my Arbaſto. Take comfort Royall ſir, Fame ſtories few are living; more the dead, Death hath but rockt him then on honours bed: Then let him ſleepe. Hee's a good Phyſitian that can quite kill griefe, That hath but newly made his patient of me: Tears muſt give vent firſt to the oppreſſed heart, And Time lay drawing plaiſters to the ſore, Before he can find eaſe, but yet I thanke yee. Moſt Noble Sir, Teares ſhews effeminate in noble ſpirits, Thoſe aged ſluces want that Raine that falls, Bewaile him not with teares, but with revenge; If drops muſt needs be ſpilt, let 'em be blood. His blood that wilfully ſheds blood, The Law of Nations wiſely did allow All Iuſts and Turnaments in Princes Courts, For honours cauſe to breake a friendly ſtaffe, But not to make a butchery or ſhambles in Court liſts: Therefore if I might of his jury be, My Verdict ſhould be given up, he muſt dye.