Chapman, George / Shirley, James · published 1639 · first performed or written 1612 [1611-1613; revised by Shirley and licensed for stage, Apr 29, 1635] (Annals) tragedy · Unknown · Phoenix/Cockpit unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 534 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
No more, the King is just, and by exposing me To this trial, means to render me More happy to his subjects, and himself His sacred will be obeyed, take thy own spirit, And let no thought in fringe thy peace for me, I go to have my honours all confirmed; Farewell thy lip, my cause has so much innocence, It sha'not need thy prayer, I leave her yours Till my return; oh let me be a son Still in your thoughts, now Gentlemen set forward. See you that trust in greatness, what sustains you, These hazards you must look for, you that thrust Your heads into a cloud, where lie in ambush The soldiers of state in privy arms Of yellow fire jealous, and mad at all That shoot their foreheads up into their forges, And pry into their gloomy Cabinets; You like vain Citizens that must go see Those ever burning furnaces, wherein Your brittle glasses of estate are blown; Who knows not you are all but puff, and bubble Of breath, and fume forged, your vile brittle natures Cause of your dearness? were you tough and lasting, You would be cheap, and not worth half your face, Now daughter Planet strooke. I am considering What form I shall put on, as best agreeing With my Lord's fortune. Habit do you mean, Of mind or body? Both would be appareled. In neither you have reason yet to mourn. I'll not accuse my heart of so much weakness▪ 'tTwere a confession 'gainst my Lord. The Queen! She has expressed 'gainst me some displeasure. Let's this way through the Gallery. 'tis she, Do you my Lord say I wot speak with her? And has Allegre, one of chiefest trust with him Suffered the rack▪ the Chancellor is violent; And what's confessed? Nothing, he contemned all That could with any cruelest pain explore him, As if his mind▪ had robbed his nerves of sense, And through them diffused fiery spirits above All flesh and blood; for as his limbs were stretched, His contempts too extended. A strange fortitude▪ But we shall lose th' arraignment. The success Will soon arrive. You'll not appear, my Lord then? I desire Your Lordship would excuse me. We are your servants. She attends you Madam. This humbleness proceeds not from your heart, Why, you are a Queen yourself in your own thoughts, The Admiral's wife of France cannot be less, You have not state enough, you should not move Without a train of friends and servants. There is some mystery Within your language Madam, I would hope You have more charity than to imagine My present condition worth your triumph, In which I am not so lost, but I have Some friends and servants with proportion To my Lord's fortune, but none within the list Of those that obey me can be more ready To express their duties, than my heart to serve Your just commands. Then pride will ebb I see, There is no constant flood of state, and greatness, The prodigy is ceasing when your Lord Comes to the balance, he whose blazing fires, Shot wonders through the Kingdom, will discover What flying and corrupted matter said him.
seed 43: T14 · seed 44: T9 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
No more, the King is juſt, and by expoſing me To this triall, meanes to render me More happy to his ſubjects, and himſelfe His ſacred will be obey'd, take thy owne ſpirit, And let no thought in fringe thy peace for me, I goe to have my honours all confirm'd; Farewell thy lip, my cauſe has ſo much innocence, It ſhanot neede thy prayer, I leave her yours Till my returne; oh let me be a ſonne Still in your thoughts, now Gentlemen ſet forward. See you that truſt in greatneſſe, what ſuſtaines you, Theſe hazards you muſt looke for, you that thruſt Your heads into a cloud, where lie in ambuſh The ſouldiers of ſtate in privy armes Of yellow fire jealous, and mad at all That ſhoote their foreheads up into their forges, And pry into their gloomy Cabbinets; You like vaine Citizens that muſt goe ſee Thoſe ever burning furnaces, wherein Your brittle glaſſes of eſtate are blowne; Who knowes not you are all but puffe, and bubble Of breath, and fume forg'd, your vile brittle natures Cauſe of your deareneſſe? were you tough and laſting, You would be cheape, and not worth halfe your face, Now daughter Plannet ſtrooke. I am conſidering What forme I ſhall put on, as beſt agreeing With my Lords fortune. Habit doe you meane, Of minde or body? Both wod be apparell'd. In neither you have reaſon yet to mourne. Ile not accuſe my heart of ſo much weakeneſſe▪ Twere a confeſſion gainſt my Lord. The Queene! She has expreſt 'gainſt me ſome diſpleaſure. Lets this way through the Gallery. Tis ſhe, Doe you my Lord ſay I wo ſpeake with her? And has Allegre, one of chiefeſt truſt with him Suffred the racke▪ the Chancellor is violent; And whats cnfeſt? Nothing, he contemn'd all That could with any cruelſt paine explore him, As if his mind▪ had rob'd his nerves of ſence, And through them diffusd fiery ſpirits above All fleſh and blood; for as his limbs were ſtretch'd, His contempts too extended. A ſtrange fortitude▪ But we ſhall loſe th' arraignement. The ſucceſſe Will ſoone arrive. Youle not appeare, my Lord then? I deſire Your Lordſhip wod excuſe me. We are your ſervants. She attends you Madam. This humbleneſſe proceedes not from your heart, Why, you are a Queene your ſelfe in your owne thoughts, The Admiralls wife of France cannot be leſſe, You have not ſtate enough, you ſhold not move Without a traine of friends and ſervants. There is ſome myſtery Within your language Madam, I woud hope You have more charitie than to imagine My preſent condition worth your triumph, In which I am not ſo loſt, but I have Some friends and ſervants with proportion To my Lords fortune, but none within the liſt Of thoſe that obey mee can be more ready To expreſſe their duties, than my heart to ſerve Your juſt commands. Then pride will ebbe I ſee, There is no conſtant flood of ſtate, and greatneſſe, The prodigie is ceaſing when your Lord Comes to the ballance, hee whoſe blazing fires, Shot wonders through the Kingdome, will diſcover What ſlying and corrupted matter ſed him.