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 T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 494 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
My Lord? Your high and mighty Justicer, The man of conscience, the Oracle Of State, whose honourable titles Would crack an Elephants back, is now turned mortal, Must pass examination, and the test Of Law, have all his offices rip'd up, And his corrupt soul laid open to the subjects, His bribes, oppressions, and close sins that made So many groan, and curse him, now shall find Their just reward, and all that love their country, Bless heaven, and the King's justice, for removing Such a devouring monster. Sir your pardon Madam you are the Queen, she is my daughter, And he that you have charactered so monstrous, My son in Law, now gone to be arraigned, The King is just, and a good man, but't does not Add to the graces of your royal person To tread upon a Lady thus dejected By her own grief, her Lord's not yet found guilty, Much less condemned, though you have pleased to execute him. What saucy fellow's this? I must confess I am a man out of this element No Courtier, yet I am a gentleman That dare speak honest truth to the Queen's care, (A duty every subject wonot pay you) And justify it to all the world, there's nothing Doth more eclipse the honours of our soul, Than an ill grounded, and ill followed passion, Let sly with noise, and licence against those▪ Whose hearts before are bleeding. Brave old man. Cause▪ you are a Queen to trample over a woman, tongue and faculties are all tied up, out a Lion's teeth, and pair his claws, And then a dwarf may pluck him by the beard, 'tis a gay victory. Did you hëare my Lord? I ha' done. And it concerns me to begin, I have not made this pause through servile fear Or guilty apprehension of your rage, But with just wonder of the heats, and wildness Has prepossessed your nature 'gainst our innocence, You are my Queen, unto that title bows The humblest knee in France, my heart made lower With my obedience, and prostrate duty, Nor have I powers created for my use, When just commands of you expect their service; But were you Queen of all the world, or something To be thought greater, betwixt heaven and us That I could reach you with my eyes and voice, I would shoot both up in defence of my Abused honour, and stand all your lightning. So brave. So just and boldly innocent, I cannot fear armed with a noble conscience The tempest of your frown, were it more frightful Than every fury made a woman's anger, Prepared to kill with deaths most horrid ceremony, Yet with what freedom of my soul I can Forgive your accusation of my pride. Forgive? what insolence is like this language? Can any action of ours be capable Of thy forgiveness? dust! how I despise thee? Can we sinne to be object of thy mercy?
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)
My Lord? Your high and mighty Juſticer, The man of conſcience, the Oracle Of State, whoſe honorable titles Would cracke an Elephants backe, is now turn'd mortall, Muſt paſſe examination, and the teſt Of Law, have all his offices rip▪d up, And his corrupt ſoule laid open to the ſubjects, His bribes, oppreſſions, and cloſe ſinnes that made So many grone, and curſe him, now ſhall finde Their juſt reward, and all that love their country, Bleſſe heaven, and the Kings Iuſtice, for removing Such a devouring monſter. Sir your pardon Madam you are the Queene, ſhe is my daughter, And he that you have character'd ſo monſtrous, My ſonne in Law, now gon to be arraign'd, The King is juſt, and a good man, but't does not Adde to the graces of your royall perſon To tread upon a Lady thus dejected By her owne griefe, her Lord's not yet found guilty, Much leſſe condemn'd, though you have pleas'd to execute him. What ſawy fellow's this? I muſt confeſſe I am a man out of this element No Courtier, yet I am a gentleman That dare ſpeake honeſt truth to the Queenes care, (A duty every ſubject wonot pay you) And juſtifie it to all the world, there's nothing Doth more ecclipſe the honours of our ſoule, Than an ill grounded, and ill followed paſſion, Let ſlie with noiſe, and licenſe againſt thoſe▪ Whoſe hearts before are bleeding. Brave old man. Cauſe▪ you are a Queene to trample ore a woman, tongue and faculties are all tied up, out a Lyons teeth, and pare his clawes, And then a dwarfe may plucke him by the beard, Tis a gay victory. Did you hëare my Lord? I ha done. And it concernes me to beginne, I have not made this pauſe through ſervile feare Or guiltie apprehenſion of your rage, But with juſt wonder of the heates, and wildneſſe Has prepoſſeſt your nature gainſt our innocence, You are my Queene, unto that title bowes The humbleſt knee in France, my heart made lower With my obedience, and proſtrate duty, Nor have I powers created for my uſe, When juſt commands of you expect their ſervice; But were you Queene of all the world, or ſomething To be thought greater, betwixt heaven and us That I could reach you with my eyes and voyce, I would ſhoote both up in defence of my Abuſed honour, and ſtand all your lightning. So brave. So juſt and boldly innocent, I cannot feare arm'd with a noble conſcience The tempeſt of your frowne, were it more frightfull Then every fury made a womans anger, Prepar'd to kill with deaths moſt horrid ceremony, Yet with what freedome of my ſoule I can Forgive your accuſation of my pride. Forgive? what inſolence is like this language? Can any action of ours be capable Of thy forgiveneſſe? duſt! how I diſpiſe thee? Can we ſinne to be object of thy mercie?