Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1640 (Annals) not in BritDrama · Ogilby's Men unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 466 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
We are disciples to The Great Archimagus. We acknowledge all Our Art derived from you. But in this justice to our gods, we hope Our gods chief Priest will give us leave— Yes, and confirm it, and applaud your zeals, My fellows both in sacred Arts and Priesthood. Go on, I praise your resolution: My Spirit gave intelligence before Of his approach, and by all circumstance, Our prophecy doth point this Christian Priest The black subversion of our Isle, but we Like masters of all destiny, will break His fate, and bruise him in his Infancy Of danger to this Kingdom, fly and be ' Armed to your wishes; Spirits shall attend you, And the whole power of hell. This news affrights me, howe'er I seem to swell with confidence, This is the man, and this the revolution, Fixed for the change of sacrifice foretold, And threatened in this fatal prophecy. A man shall come into this Land, With shaven Crown, and in his hand A crooked Staff, he shall command, And in the East his table stand; From his warm lips a stream shall flow, To make rocks melt, and Churches grow, Where while be sings, our gods shall bow, And all our kings his law allow. This, this is the vexation. Sir, the King. What of the King? Is troubled, sick, distracted. How? With a dream; he has no peace within him; You must with all haste visit him, we shall Suspect his death else. Mighty Priest, as you Respect the safety of the King, you must Make haste, the Court is up in arms, and he Calls for his sword. You fright me gentlemen: Rebellion in the Court, who are the Traitors? His own wild thoughts, and apprehension Of what, he says, was in his sleep presented, He calls upon his Guard, and rails upon 'em, When they appear with no more arms, and swears That every man shall wear a Tun of Iron. The Prince. The King impatient of your absence, Sir, Hath left the Court, and by some few attended Is coming hither, laden with fear and weapons; He talks of strange things in his dream, and frights Our ears with an invasion, that his Crown Sits trembling on his head, unless your wisdom Clear his dark fears, we are undone. He's here. How fares the King? Dear Archimagus, We want thy skill to interpret a black dream I had last night, my fancy is still sick on't, And with the very apprehension I feel much of my soul dissolve, and through My frighted pores, creep from me in a sweat: I shall have nothing in me but a bath, Unless thou do repair my languishing essence With thy great art and counsel. Give me, Sir, The particular of your dream.
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)
We are disciples to The Great Archimagus. We acknowledge all Our Art deriv'd from you. But in this justice to our gods, we hope Our gods chiefe Priest will give us leave— Yes, and confirme it, and applaud your zeales, My fellowes both in sacred Arts and Priesthood. Go on, I praise your resolution: My Spirit gave intelligence before Of his approach, and by all circumstance, Our prophesie doth point this Christian Priest The blacke subversion of our Isle, but we Like masters of all destiny, will breake His fate, and bruise him in his Infancy Of danger to this Kingdome, fly and be 'Arm'd to your wishes; Spirits shall attend you, And the whole power of hell. This newes affrights me, How e're I seem to swell with confidence, This is the man, and this the revolution, Fixt for the change of sacrifice foretold, And threatned in this fatall prophesie. A man shall come into this Land, With shaven Crowne, and in his hand A crooked Staffe, he shall command, And in the East his table stand; From his warme lips a streame shall flow▪ To make rockes melt, and Churches grow, Where while be sings, our gods shall bow, And all our kings his law allow. This, this is the vexation. Sir, the King. What of the King? Is troubled, sicke, distracted. How? With a dreame; he has no peace within him; You must with all haste visit him, we shall Suspect his death else. Mighty Priest, as you Respect the safety of the King, you must Make haste, the Court is up in armes, and he Calls for his sword. You fright me gentlemen: Rebellion in the Court, who are the Traytors? His owne wilde thoughts, and apprehension Of what, he sayes, was in his sleepe presented, He calls upon his Guard, and railes upon 'em, When they appeare with no more armes, and swearos That every man shall weare a Tun of Iron. The Prince▪ The King impatient of your absence, Sir, Hath left the Court, and by some few attended Is coming hither, laden with feare and weapons; He talks of strange things in his dreame, and frights Our eares with an invasion, that his Crowne Sits trembling on his head, unlesse your wisdome Cleare his dark feares, we are undone. He's here. How fares the King? Deare Archimagus, We want thy skill to interpret a black dreame I had last night, my fancie is still sick on't, And with the very apprehension I feele much of my soule dissolve, and through My frighted pores, creep from me in a sweat: I shall have nothing in me but a bath, Vnlesse thou do repaire my languishing essence With thy great art and counsell. Give me, Sir, The particular of your dreame.