The Misfortunes of Arthur (Certain Devices and Shows Presented to Her Majesty) · chunk 8 of 35
Hughes, Thomas / Fulbecke, William · published 1587 · first performed or written 1588 [Feb 28] (Annals) tragedy · before the Court T2 Roman politics: senate, consuls and civi typicality 0.71 · 509 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T2: rome, caesar, senate, sulla, roman, consul, brutus, romans, men, marius.
Where you may bathe in blood, and fight your fill. Let courage work: what can he not that dares? Thus he puissant guide in doubtful wars, A shamed to shun his foes, inflamed his friends. Then yielding to his stately Stead the reigns, He furious drives the Roman troops about: He plies each place, least Fates mought alter aught, Pursuing hap, and urging each success. He yields in nought, but instantly persists In all attempts, wherein what so withstands His wish, he joys to work a way by wrack. And matching death to death, no passage seeks, But what destruction works, with blade or blood. He scorns the yielded way, he fiercely raves To break and bruise the ranks in thickest throngs, All headlong bent, and prone to present spoil. The foes enforced withstand: but much dismayed They senseless fight, whiles millions lose their lives. At length Tiberius, pierced with point of spear, Doth bleéding fall, engored with deadly wound. Hereat the rest recoil, and headlong fly, Each man to save himself. The battle quails And Britons win unto their most renown. Then Arthur took Tiberius breathless Corpse, And sent it to the Senators at Rome, With charge to say: This is the tribute due Which Arthur ought, as time hereafter serves, He'll pay the like again: the whiles he rests Your debtor thus. But O! this this sweet success Pursued with greater harms, turned soon to sour. For lo: when foreign soils and seas were passed With safe return, and that the King should land: Who, but his only son (O outrage rare) With hugy host withstood him at the shore? There were prepared the foreign aids from far, There were the borrowed powers of divers Kings, There were our parents, brethren, sons and kin, Their wrath, their ire, there Mordred was thy rage. Where erst we sought abroad for foes to foil, Behold, our Fates had sent us foes unsought. When foreign Realms supplanted want supply: O blessed Home, that hath such boon in store. But let this part of Arthur's prowess lurk, Nor let it e'er appear by my report, What monstrous mischiefs rave in civil wars. O rather let due tears, and wailings want: Let all in silence sink, what hence ensued. What best deserveth mention here, is this: That Mordred vanquished trusted to his flight, That Arthur each where victor is returned. And lo: where Mordred comes with heavy head, He wields no slender weight that wields a Crown. ANd hath he won? Be strands & shores possessed? Is Mordred foiled? the realm is yet unwon: And Mordred lives reserved for Arthur's death: Well: 'twas my first conflict: I knew not yet What wars required: but now my sword is fleshed, And taught to gore and bath in hottest blood. Then think not Arthur that the Crown is won: Thy first success may rue our next assault. even at our next encounter (hap when 'twill) I vow by Heaven, by Earth, by Hell, by all, That either thou, or I, or both shall die.
seed 43: T1 · seed 44: T2 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Where you may bath in blood, and fight your fill. Let courage worke: what can he not that dares? Thus he puissant guide in doubtfull warres, A shamde to shun his foes, inflamde his friends. Then yeélding to his stately Stead the raignes, He furious driues the Romaine troupes about: He plies each place, least Fates mought alter ought, Pursuing hap, and vrging each successe. He yeélds in nought, but instantly persists In all attempts, wherein what so withstands His wish, he ioyes to worke a way by wracke. And matching death to death, no passage seekes, But what destruction works, with blade or blood. He scornes the yeelded way, he fiercely raues To breake and bruse the rancks in thickest throngs, All headlong bent, and prone to present spoile. The foes inforc't withstand: but much dismaide They senselesse fight, whiles millions lose their liues. At length Tiberius, pierst with point of speare, Doth bleéding fall, engoard with deadly wound. Hereat the rest recoile, and headlong flie, Each man to saue himselfe. The battaile quailes And Brytaines winne vnto their most renowne. Then Arthur tooke Tiberius breathlesse Corse, And sent it to the Senators at Rome, With charge to say: This is the tribute due Which Arthur ought, as time hereafter serues, He'll pay the like againe: the whiles he rests Your debtor thus. But O! this this sweéte successe Pursu'd with greater harmes, turn'd soone to sowre. For lo: when forreine soiles and seas were past With safe returne, and that the King should land: Who, but his onely sonne (O outrage rare) With hugie hoast withstoode him at the shoare? There were preparde the forreine aides from farre, There were the borowed powers of diuers Kings, There were our parents, brethren, sonnes and kinne, Their wrath, their ire, there Mordred was thy rage. Where erst we sought abroade for foes to foile, Beholde, our Fates had sent vs foes vnsought. When forreine Realmes supplanted want supplie: O blessed Home, that hath such boonne in store. But let this part of Arthurs prowesse lurke, Nor let it e'r appeare by my report, What monstrous mischiefes raue in ciuill warres. O rather let due teares, and waylings want: Let all in silence sinke, what hence insu'd. What best deserueth mention here, is this: That Mordred vanquisht trusted to his flight, That Arthur ech where victor is returnd. And lo: where Mordred comes with heauy head, He wields no slender waight that wields a Crowne. ANd hath he wonne? Be Stronds & shoares possest? Is Mordred foilde? the realme is yet vnwonne: And Mordred liues reseru'd for Arthurs death: Well: t'was my first conflict: I knew not yet What warres requir'd: but now my sworde is flesht, And taught to goare and bath in hoatest bloode. Then thinke not Arthur that the Crowne is wonne: Thy first successe may rue our next assault. Euen at our next incounter (hap when 'twill) I vowe by Heauen, by Earth, by Hell, by all, That either thou, or I, or both shall .