Shirley, James · published 1640 · first performed or written 1640 (Annals) not in BritDrama · Ogilby's Men unassigned nearest T38 Death, parting and grief at court · 534 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
He writ to me, That I should try my art, and by some stratagem Discharge his life; I'll do't, but all this won't Quit the suspicion of the PRINCE's death: What if I lay the murder to his charge? I can swear any thing. But if he come off, My head must answer; no trick in my brain? You're welcome; the King writes you have desires To see the Queen, you shall entreat her presence. The King has honoured me. You have deserved it. And I do count it happiness to receive Whom he hath graced; but the remembrance Of what you were, adds to the entertainment: My old acquaintance, Patrick. You are noble. The Queen? welcome again, come hither, sirrah. Madam; I joy to see you, and present My humble duty: Heaven hath heard my prayers, I hope, and if you still preserve that goodness, That did so late, and sweetly shine upon you, I may not be unwelcome, since there is Something behind, which I am trusted with, To make you happier. Holy Patrick, welcome. Obey in every circumstance: My despair Shall have revenge wait on it. This is, Madam, A good man, he was once my slave; let not That title take thy present freedom of My house; my fortunes and my fate, I wish, May have one period with thee, I shall Attend you again, I hope we all may live And die together yet. My duty, Madam. I do not like their whispering, there's some mischief, he did so overact his courtesy, I'll look about us. Do, honest Bard. Oh Madam, if you knew The difference betwixt my faith, and your Religion, the grounds and progress of What we profess, the sweetness, certainty, And full rewards of virtue, you would hazard, Nay, lose the glory of ten thousand worlds, Like this to be a Christian, and be blessed To lay your life down (but a moment, on Which our eternity depends) and through Torture and seas of blood contend, to reach That blessed vision at last, in which Is all that can be happy, and perfection. I have a soul most willing to be taught. Oh Madam, fire, help, we are all lost, The house is round about on fire, the doors Are barred and locked, there is no going forth, We shall be burnt, and that will spoil my singing: My voice hath been recovered from a cold; But fire will spoil it utterly. Have no dread, holy Patrick, all their malice Shall never hurt thy person, Heaven doth look With scorn upon their treachery, thou art Reserved to make this Nation glorious, By their conversion to the Christian faith, Which shall by blood of many Martyrs grow, Till it be called the Island of the Saints; Look up, and see what thou observest. Milcho throwing his treasures into the flames. Patrick, thou art caught, inevitable flames Must now devour thee, thouart my slave again, There is no hope to scape: How I do glory, That by my policy thou shalt consume, Though I be made a sacrifice with thee To our great gods; ha, ha, the Queen: Bard, You will be exc'llent roast meat for the Devil.
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 writ to me, That I should try my art, and by some stratagem Discharge his life; I'll do't, but all this wonot Quit the suspition of the Princes death: What if I lay the murder to his charge? I can sweare any thing. But if he come off, My head must answer; no trick in my braine? Y'are welcome; the King writes you have desires To see the Queene, you shall entreat her presence. The King has honour'd me. You have deserv'd it. And I doe count it happinesse to receive Whom he hath grac'd; but the remembrance Of what you were, addes to the entertainment: My old acquaintance, Patrick. You are noble. The Queene? welcome agen, come hither, sirra. Madam; I joy to see you, and present My humble dutie: Heaven hath heard my prayers, I hope, and if you still preserve that goodnesse, That did so late, and sweetly shine upon you, I may not be unwelcome, since there is Something behind, which I am trusted with, To make you happier. Holy Patricik, welcome. Obey in everie circumstance: My despaire Shall have revenge wait on it. This is, Madam, A good man, he was once my slave; let not That title take thy present freedome of My house; my fortunes and my fate, I wish, May have one period with thee, I shall Attend you agen, I hope we all may live And dye together yet. My dutie, Madam. I doe not like their whispering, there's some mischiefe, hee did so over-act his courtesie, I'll looke about us. Doe, honest Bard. Oh Madam, if you knew The difference bet wixt my faith, and your Religion, the grounds and progresse of What we professe, the sweetnesse, certaintie, And full rewards of vertue, you would hazard, Nay, lose the glorie of ten thousand worlds, Like this to be a Christian, and be blest To lay your life downe (but a moment, on Which our eternitie depends) and through Torture and seas of bloud contend, to reach That blessed vision at last, in which Is all that can be happie, and perfection. I have a soule most willing to be taught. Oh Madam, fire, help, we are all lost, The house is round about on fire, the doores Are barr'd and lock' ▪ there is no going forth, We shall be burnt, and that will spoyle my singing: My voyce hath been rcover'd from a cold; But fire will spoyle it utterly. Have no dread, holy Patrick, all their malice Shall never hurt thy person, Heaven doth look With scorne upon their treacherie, thou art Reserv'd to make this Nation glorious, By their conversion to the Christian faith, Which shall by bloud of many Martyrs grow, Till it be call'd the Iland os the Saints; Look up, and see what thou observ'st. Milcho throwing his treasures into the flames. Patrick, thou art caught, inevitable flames Must now devoure thee, th'art my slave againe, There is no hope to scape: How I doe glorie, That by my policie thou shalt consume, Though I be made a sacrifice with thee To our great gods; ha, ha, the Queene: Bard, You will be exlent rost meat for the Devill.