Rawlins, Thomas · published 1640 · first performed or written 1638 [1637-1639] (Annals) tragedy · King's Revels Company unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 492 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
Then you are for the King? I bully I. Let's go seek our fellows, and to this gear. Come on then. Men of our needful profession, that deal in such commodities as men's lives, had need to look about 'em 're they traffic: I am to kill Raimond, the Devils cozen german, for he wears the same complexion: but there is a right Devil that hath hired me, that's Count Machvile. Good Table conceal me, here will I wait my watchword: but stay, have I not forgot it (Then) I then is my arm to enter. I hear them coming. Pray take your seats. Not well, prithee retire. Sick, sick at heart. Well wrought poison, O how joy swells me. You see my Lord the poison is boxed up. Health waste upon this Royal company. Knows she we are here? O no my Lord, 'tis to the twins of treason: Machvile, and Raymond. Royal there's something in't. It smells rank o'th' Traitor. Are you i'th' wind on't? Will you leave us? I cannot stay; O I am sick to death. Or I'll ne'er trust poison more. Pray seat yourselves Gentlemen, though your deserts have merit And your worths have deserved nobly; But ingratitude, that should be banished From a PRINCE's breast, is Philip's favourite. Philip Traitor, why not King? I am so. Patience good my Lord; i'll down. It lives too near him: You that have ventured with expense of blood, And danger of your lives, to rivet him Unto his Seat with peace: you that in War He termed his atlases, and pressed with praises Your brawny shoulders; called you his Colossuses, And said your looks frighted tall war Out of his territories: now in peace, The issue of your labour: this bad man, Philip I mean, made of ingratitude, Won't afford a name, that may distinguish Your worthy selves from Cowards: Civet Cats spotted with rat's dung, Or a face like white Broth, strewed o'er with Currants For a stirring Caper, or itching Dance; to Please my Lady Vanity, shall be made A smock Knight. Villain, must our disgrace mount thee? To what tends this? What means Count Machvile? To be your King; fie on this circumstance, My longing will not brook it: say, Will you obey us as your Kings and Queens. My Lord Antonio. Confine yourselves, the King is within hearing; therefore make show of liking Machviles plot: let him Mount high, his fall will be the deeper: my life you shall be safe. Say, are you agreed? If not we'll force you to't: Speak French man, are our forces i'th' City? we monsieur. We acknowledge you our King. King More Traitors. Why then. Ha, from whence this sudden Mischief? Did you not see a hand armed with the fatal Ruin of my life. None paw Signior. Ha, ha, ha; lay hold on those French Soldiers, Away with them. Wast thy plot Machvile? go laughing to thy grave.
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)
Then you are for the King? I bully I. Lets goe seeke our fellowes, and to this geere. Come on then. Men of our needfull profession, that deale in such commodities as mens lives, had need to looke about 'em 're they trafficke: I am to kill Raimond, the Devills cozen german, for he weares the same complexion: but there is a right Devill that hath hired me, that's Count Machvile. Good Table conceale me, here will I wait my watch-word: but stay, have I not forgot it (Then) I then is my arme to enter. I heare them comming. Pray take your seats. Not well, prethee retire. Sicke, sicke at heart. Well wrought poison, O how joy swells me. You see my Lord the poison is boxt up. Health waste upon this Royall company. Knowes she we are here? O no my Lord, 'tis to the twins of treason: Machvile, and Raymond. Royall there's something in't. It smells ranke o'th Traytor. Are you i'th wind on't? Will you leave us? I cannot stay; O I am sicke to death. Or Ile nere trust poison more. Pray seate your selves Gentlemen, though your deserts have merit And your worth's have deserv'd nobly; But ingratitude, that should be banisht From a Princes breast, is Philips favorite. Philip Traytor, why not King? I am so. Patience good my Lord; ile downe. It lives too neere him: You that have venter'd with expence of blood, And danger of your lives, to rivet him Unto his Seate with peace: you that in War He term'd his Atlasses, and prest with praises Your brawny shoulders; cald you his Colossuses, And said your lookes frighted tall war Out of his territories: now in peace, The issue of your labour: this bad man, Philip I meane, made of ingratitude, Wo'not afford a name, that may distinguish Your worthy selves from Cowards: Civet Cats spotted with Rats dung, Or a face like white Broth, strew'd o're with Currance For a stirring Caper, or itching Dance; to Please my Lady Vanity, shall be made A smocke Knight. Villaine, must our disgrace mount thee? To what tends this? What meanes Count Machvile? To be your King; fie on this circumstance, My longing will not brooke it: say, Will you obey us as your Kings and Queenes. My Lord Antonio. Confine your selves, the King is within hearing; therefore make show of liking Machviles plot: let him Mount high, his fall will bee the deeper: my life you shall bee safe. Say, are you agreed? If not weele force you to't: Speake French man, are our forces i'th City? Wee Mounsier. We acknowledge you our King. King More Traytors. Why then. Ha, from whence this suddaine Mischiefe? Did you not see a hand arm'd with the fatall Ruine of my life. None paw Signior. Ha, ha, ha; lay hold on those French Souldiers, Away with them. Wast thy plot Machvile? goe laughing to thy grave.