The Seven Champions of Christendom · chunk 18 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 · 529 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
Lord Lenon, 'tis most certain he must die: I love my Sovereign well, I loved his son, But dare not say that he deserves to die: This stranger here, came here in honour's cause, Staked honour down, and bravely bore it hence: yourself, silence but envies tongue, can witness with me, I have spoke but truth: where lives the Nobleness But in the mind? wild beasts have strength, irrational And rude, but want the sense of reason's government: Let rage hot rains bite upon temperance: The Iron handed Fates wars hard at game, And threw a cast at brave Arbasto's life; But let your sentence pass my Lord, ha' done, Spoke like no lover of his sovereign's son Replied not like a lover unto either: Your valour's horselike, and it must be tamed, 'twill break the rider's neck dares but to back him. Forbear I say, on your allegiance: Had my Arbasto died in our defence, Against the pride of the hot Persian Host, That seeks to pale his Temple with our wreath, And name Tartary new Persia, Our cares had been but slight, but in a friendly Breathing exercise, when honour goes a feasting but for show, A jesting practice in the School of Arms, There for to lose him. An ill intent armed Executions hand. I know not that; why should he ruin him, Showing more kind innated friendship to him, Than brother shows to brother. Remus and Romulus, my Lord, one sucked more Harder on the Wolf than other, Think what a game Hope lost. Upon my soul, my Lord, the Knight is clear Of any foul intent against your son. Why Almain, Almain, dare you stand to this? Lenon I dare, and in thy venom blood write He's not guilty. No more I say, upon your lives no more: Too hard it is for me to give a true descidence to the cause, The Knight was ever courteous, fair, and free, And 'gainst the Persian in my just defence, Ransomed my son from multitudes of loss, And brought home conquest to our very gate, I cannot then in honour take his life, Our neighbour Kings would say, I dealt not fair, And quite disclaim in us all brotherhood: To banish him, were but the more to enlarge his fame; All kingdoms are but Knight errands native home. In private be it spoke my Liege, I like not Almona's love to this same Knight: It little shows love to the deceased Prince: What was he but a young straight tender plant; The sturdy Oak might well have spared him then: His toward hopes were ruined and cut down: Had he done this in any other Court, to any Prince So toward as your Son, he had ere this been atoms: Your son has suffered, let him suffer too, whoever wilfully committed murder, And was without excuse? but can that save? No more should this my Liege, I have but said. And wisely Lenon, go bring forth the Knight; We are determined that he shall not live; Nor shall he suffer here within our Courts, we'll kill him in a nobler gentile way: O here he comes.
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)
Lord Lenon, 'tis moſt certaine he muſt dye: I love my Soveraigne well, I lov'd his ſonne, But dare not ſay that he deſerves to dye: This ſtranger here, came here in honours cauſe, Stak't honour downe, and bravely bore it hence: Your ſelfe, ſilence but envies tongue, can witneſſe with me, I have ſpoke but truth: where lives the Nobleneſſe But in the minde? wild beaſts have ſtrength, irrationall And rude, but want the ſence of reaſons government: Let rage hot raines bite upon temperance: The Iron handed Fates warres hard at game, And threw a caſt at brave Arbaſtoes life; But let your ſentence paſſe my Lord, ha' done, Spoke like no lover of his Soveraignes ſonne Reply'd not like a lover unto either: Your valours's horſe-like, and it muſt be tam'd, Twill breake the Riders necke dares but to back him▪ Forbeare I ſay, on your allegeance: Had my Arbasto dyed in our defence, Againſt the pride of the hot Perſian Hoſt, That ſeekes to pale his Temple with our wreath, And name Tartary new Perſia, Our cares had beene but ſlight, but in a friendly Breathing exerciſe, when honor goes a feaſting but for ſhew, A jeſting practice in the Schoole of Armes, There for to loſe him. An ill intent arm'd Executions hand. I know not that; why ſhould he ruine him, Shewing more kind innated friendſhip to him, Than brother ſhewes to brother. Remus and Romulus, my Lord, one ſuckt more Harder on the Wolfe than tother, Thinke what a game Hope loſt. Upon my ſoule, my Lord, the Knight is cleare Of any foule intent againſt your ſonne. Why Almaine, Almaine, dare you ſtand to this? Lenon I dare, and in thy venome blood write He's not guilty. No more I ſay, upon your lives no more: Too hard it is for me to give a true deſcidence to the cauſe, The Knight was ever courteous, faire, and free, And 'gainſt the Perſian in my juſt defence, Ranſom'd my ſonne from multitudes of loſſe, And brought home conqueſt to our very gate, I cannot then in honour take his life, Our neighbour Kings would ſay, I dealt not faire, And quite diſclaime in us all brother-hood: To baniſh him, were but the more to enlarge his fame; All kingdomes are but Knight errands native home. In private be it ſpoke my Liege, I like not Almonas love to this ſame Knight: It little ſhewes love to the deceaſed Prince: What was he but a young ſtrait tender plant; The ſturdy Oke might well have ſpar'd him then: His toward hopes were ruin'd and cut downe: Had he done this in any other Court, to any Prince So toward as your Sonne, he had ere this beene attomes: Your ſonne has ſuffer'd, let him ſuffer too, Who ever wilfully committed murther, And was without excuſe? but can that ſave? No more ſhould this my Liege, I have but ſaid. And wiſely Lenon, goe bring forth the Knight; We are determin'd that he ſhall not live; Nor ſhall he ſuffer here within our Courts, Wee'le kill him in a nobler gentile way: O here he comes.