The Misfortunes of Arthur (Certain Devices and Shows Presented to Her Majesty) · chunk 18 of 35
Hughes, Thomas / Fulbecke, William · published 1587 · first performed or written 1588 [Feb 28] (Annals) tragedy · before the Court unassigned nearest T19 Virtue, Fortune and Vice as abstractions · 452 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T19: virtue, fortune, virtues, honour, fame, vice, envy, world, pride, great.
Resist these doubts: 'tis ill to yield to harms. 'tis safest then to dare when most you fear. As safe sometimes to fear, when most we dare. A causeless courage gives repentance place. If Fortune fawns. Each way on me she frowns. For win I, lose I, both procure my grief. Put case you win, what grief? Admit I do, What joy? Then may you rule. When I may die. To rule is much. Small if we covet nought. Who covets not a Crown. He that discerns The sword aloft. That hangeth fast. But by A hair. Right holds it up. Wrong puls it do The Commons help the King. They sometimes hurt. At least the Peers. seld, if allegiance want. Yet Sovereignty. Not, if allegiance fail. Doubt not, the Realm is yours. 'twas mine till now. And shall be still. If Mordred list. T'were we Your crown were won. Perhaps 'tis bets lost. The name of rule should move a princely mind. Trust me, bad things have often glorious names. The greatest good that Fortune can afford. A dangerous good that wisdom would eschew. Yet weigh the hearsay of the old renown, And Fame the Wonderer of the former age: Which still extols the facts of worthiest wights, Preferring no deserts before your deeds. even she exhorts you to this new attempts, Which left untried your winnings be but loss. Small credit will be given of matters passed To Fame, the Flatterer of the former age. Were all believed which antic bruit imports, Yet wisdom weighs the peril joined to praise: Rare is the Fame (mark well all ages gone) Which hath not hurt the house it most enhanced. Besides, Fame's but a blast that sounds a while, And quickly stints, and then is quite forgot. Look whatsoe'er our virtues have achieved, The Chaos vast and greedy time devours. Today all Europe rings of Arthur's praise: T'will be as hushed, as if I ne'er had been. What boots it then to venture life or limb, For that, which needs e'er long we leave, or loose, Can blind affection so much blear the wise, Or love of graceless Son so witch the Sire? That what concerns the honour of a Prince With country's good and Subjects just request, Should lightly be contemned by a King? When Lucius sent but for his tribute due, You went with thirteen Kings to root him out: Have Romans, for requiring but their own, Abode your nine years brunts: Shall Mordred scape, That wronged you thus in honour, Queen, and Realm? Were this no cause to stir a King to wrath, Yet should your Conquests late achieved 'gainst Rome Inflame your mind with thirst of full revenge.
seed 43: T25 · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Resist these doubts: tis ill to yeeld to harmes. T'is safest then to dare when most you feare. As safe sometimes to feare, when most we dare. A causelesse courage giues repentance place. If Fortune fawns. Each waie on me she frowns. For winne I, loose I, both procure my griefe. Put case you winne, what griefe? Admit I doe, What ioy? Then may you rule. When I may To rule is much. Small if we couet naught. Who couets not a Crowne. He that discernes The swoord aloft. That hangeth fast. But by A haire. Right holdes it vp. Wrong puls it do The Commons helpe the King. They sometimes hurt. At least the Peeres. Sield, if allegeance want. Yet Soueraigntie. Not, if allegeance faile. Doube not, the Realme is yours. T'was mine till now. And shall be still. If Mordred list. T'were we Your crowne were wonne. Perhaps tis bettes lost. The name of rule should moue a princely minde. Trust me, bad things haue often glorious names. The greatest good that Fortune can affoord. A dangerous good that wisedome would eschue. Yet waigh the hearesaie of the olde renowme, And Fame the Wonderer of the former age: Which still extolls the facts of worthyest wights, Preferring no deserts before your deeds. Euen she exhorts you to this new attempts, Which left vntryde your winnings be but losse. Small credit will be giuen of matters past To Fame, the Flatterer of the former age. Were all beleeu'd which antique bruite imports, Yet wisedome waighes the perill ioinde to praise: Rare is the Fame (marke well all ages gone) Which hath not hurt the house it most enhaun'st. Besides, Fame's but a blast that sounds a while, And quickely stints, and then is quite forgot. Looke whatsoe'r our vertues haue atchieu'd, The Chaos vast and greédy time deuours. To day all Europe rings of Arthurs praise: T'wilbe as husht, as if I ne'r had beéne. What bootes it then to venture life or limme, For that, which neédes e'r long we leaue, or loose, Can blinde affection so much bleare the wise, Or loue of gracelesse Sonne so witch the Sire? That what concernes the honour of a Prince With Countries good and Subiects iust request, Should lightly be contemned by a King? When Lucius sent but for his tribute due, You went with thirteéne Kings to roote him out: Haue Romaines, for requiring but their owne, Aboad your nine yeares brunts: Shall Mordred scape, That wrong'd you thus in honour, Queéne, and Realme? Were this no cause to stirre a King to wrath, Yet should your Conquests late atchieu'd gainst Rome Inflame your minde with thirst of full reuenge.