Dekker, Thomas / Middleton, Thomas · published 1639 · first performed or written 1639 [c.1617-1639] (Annals) tragedy · Queen Anne's Men (?) unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 522 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
He was no less, son to mine Enemy, A banished King; Tymethes was his name. Oh me, my son Tymethes. Passion may spoil us: sir, we oft have heard Of that old King his father; and that justly This Kingdom was by right due to his sway. It was, I think it was, till we called in By policy and force deceived his confidence, Showed him a trick of war and turned him out. sin's boast is worse than sin. All's sure, the guards are seized on. Good. The Passagē strongly guarded. Holy sir, what's he? Our brother, a poor Pilgrim, that gives notice Of a Religious father that attends To bear us company in our Pilgrimage. Oh, ho, 'tis good, 'tis very good. Alas poor Lady, it makes me weep to see what food she eats. I know your mercy will remit this penance. Never, our vow's irrevocable, never; The Lecher must be swallowed rib by rib, His flesh is sweet, it melts, and goes down merrily, Ha? what aren these? Speranza. Ha? Villain, this minute loses thee, thou Tyrant. Pilgrims wear arms? the old King? and Lapirus? Betrayed? confounded? oh, I must die forsworn; Break vow, bleed Whore, there is my jealousy flown. Oh happy man, 'tis more revenge to me Then all your aims, I have killed my jealousy. I have nothing now to care for more than hell 'T had been if you had struck me ere she fell. I had left her to your lust, the thought is bitterness, But she first fall'n; ha, ha, ha. Die cruel murderous Tyrant. So, laugh away this breath, My lust was ne'er more pleasing than my death. As full possessed as ever, and as rich In subjects' hearts and voices; we present thee The complete sway of this usurped Kingdom. I am so borne betwixt the violent streams Of joy and passion, I forget my state; To all our thanks and favours, and what more We are in debt to all your free consent We will discharge in happy government. The peaceful'st reign that ever Prince enjoyed. Already a Petition? suitors begin betimes We are scarce warm in our good fortune yet, what are you? Unworthiest of all the joys this hour brings forth. Our dearest Queen? Your poor distressed Queen. Oh let me light upon that constant breast, And kiss thee till my soul melt on thy lips: Our Joys were perfect, stood Tymethes there, We are old; this Kingdom wants a hopeful heir. Your joys are perfect though he stand not there, And your wish blessed behold a hopeful heir: Stand not amazed, 'tis Manophes. How just the Gods are? who in their due time Return what they took from us. Happy hour, Heaven hath not taken all our happiness; For though your elder met ill fate, good heaven Hath thus preserved your younger for your heir. Prepare those limbs for honourable burial, And noble Nephew all your ill is lost In your late new borne goodness, which we'll reward, No storm of fate so fierce but time destroys, And beats back misery with a peal of Joys.
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)
He was no lesse, sonne to mine Enemie, A banisht King; Tymethes was his name. Oh me, my sonne Tymethes. Passion may spoyle us: sir, we oft have heard Of that old King his father; and that justly This Kingdome was by right due to his sway. It was, I thinke it was, till we call'd in By pollicy and force deceiv'd his confidence, Shew'd him a tricke of warre and turn'd him out. Sinnes boast is worse than sinne. All's sure, the guards are seiz'd on. Good. The Passagē strongly guarded. Holy sir, what's he? Our brother, a poore Pilgrime, that gives notice Of a Religious father that attends To beare us company in our Pilgrimage. Oh, ho, tis good, tis very good. Alas poore Lady, it makes mee weepe to see what food she eates. I know your mercy will remit this pennance. Never, our vow's irrevocable, never; The Letcher must be swallowed rib by rib, His flesh is sweete, it melts, and goes downe merrily, Ha? what arē these? Speranza. Ha? Villaine, this minute looses thee, thou Tyrant. Pilgrims weare armes? the old King? and Lapirus? Betrayd? confounded? oh, I must dye forsworne; Breake vow, bleed Whore, there is my jealousie flownē. Oh happie man, tis more revenge to me Then all your aymes, I have kill'd my jealousie. I have nothing now to care for more than hell 'T had beene if you had strucke me ere she fell. I had left her to your lust, the thought is bitternesse, But she first falne; ha, ha, ha. Dye cruell murtherous Tyrant. So, laugh away this breath, My lust was nere more pleasing than my death. As full possest as ever, and as rich In Subjects hearts and voyces; we present thee The compleat sway of this usurped Kingdome. I am so borne betwixt the violent streames Of Ioy and passion, I forget my state; To all our thankes and favours, and what more We are in debt to all your free consent We will discharge in happie governement. The peacefull'st reigne that ever Prince enjoy'd. Already a Petition? suitors begin betimes We are scarce warme in our good fortune yet, what are you? Vnworthiest of all the joyes this houre brings forth. Our dearest Queene? Your poore distressed Queene. Oh let me light upon that constant brest, And kisse thee till my soule melt on thy lips: Our Joyes were perfect, stood Tymethes there, We are old; this Kingdome wants a hopefull heire. Your joyes are perfect though he stand not there, And your wish blest behold a hopefull heire: Stand not amaz'd, 'tis Manophes. How just the Gods are? who in their due time Returne what they tooke from us. Happy houre, Heaven hath not taken all our happinesse; For though your elder met ill fate, good heaven Hath thus preserv'd your yonger for your heire. Prepare those limbes for honourable buriall, And noble Nephew all your ill is lost In your late new borne goodnesse, which we'le reward, No storme of fate so fierce but time destroyes, And beates backe miserie with a peale of Joyes.