The Misfortunes of Arthur (Certain Devices and Shows Presented to Her Majesty) · chunk 29 of 35
Hughes, Thomas / Fulbecke, William · published 1587 · first performed or written 1588 [Feb 28] (Annals) tragedy · before the Court unassigned nearest T25 Kings, power and law: political sententi · 525 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T25: feare, kings, power, princes, lawes, loue, state, downe, honor, men.
When Britain so desired her own decay, That e'en her native brood would root her up: Seemed it so huge a work, (O Heavens) for you To tumble down, and quite subvert her state, Unless so many Nations came in aid? What thirst of spoil (O Fates?) In civil wars Were you afraid to faint for want of blood? But yet, O wretched state in Britons fond, What needed they to stoop to Mordred'S yoke, Or fear the man themselves so fearful made? Had they, but linked like friends in Arthur's bands, And joined their force against the foreign foes: These wars and civil sins had soon surceased, And Mordred reft of rule had feared his Sire. Would Gods these wars had drawn no other blood, Than such as sprung from breasts of foreign foes: So that the fountain, fed with changeless course, Had found no nearer vents for dearer juice. Or if the Fates so thirst for British blood, And long so deeply for our last decay: O that the rest were spared and safe reserved, Both Saxons, Danes, and Normans most of all. Hereof when civil wars have worn us out, Must Britain stand, a borrowed blood for Brute. When prosperous haps, and long continuing bliss, Have passed the ripeness of their budding growth, They fall and falter like the mellow fruit, Surcharged with burden of their own excess. So Fortune wearied with our often wars, Is forced to faint, and leave us to our fates. If men have minds presaging ought their harms, If ever heavy heart foreween her woe: What Britain lives, so far removed from home, In any Air, or Pole, or Coast abroad: But that even now through Nature's sole instinct, He feels the fatal sword imbrue his breast, Wherewith his native soil for aye is slain? What hopes, and haps lie wasted in these wars? Who knows the foils he suffered in these fields? COme Cador, as our friendship was most firm Throughout our age, so now let's link as fast. Thus did we live in wars, thus let us die In peace, and arm in arm partake our Fates. Our wounds, our grief, our wish, our hap alike, Our end so near, all crave each others help. O King, behold the fruit of all our Fame: Lo here our Pomp consumed with ourselves, What all our age with all our wars had won, Lo here one day hath lost it all at once. Well: so it likes the Heavens: thus Fortune gibes: She hoisteth up to hurl the deeper down. O sacred Prince: what sight is this we see? Why have the Fates reserved us to these woes Our only hope: the stay of all our Realm: The pillar of our state: thus sore oppressed? O would the Gods had favoured us so much: That, as we lived partakers of your pains, And likewise joyed the fruit of your exploits: So having thus bereft our sovereign's bliss, They had with more indifferent doom conjoined The Subjects both, and sovereign's bane in one. It now (alas) engendereth double grief, To rue your want, and to bewail our woes.
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)
When Brytaine so desir'd her owne decaie, That eu'n her natiue broode would roote her vp: Seamde it so huge a woorke, (O Heauens) for you To tumble downe, and quite subuert her state, Unlesse so many Nations came in aide? What thirst of spoile (O Fates?) In ciuil warres Were you afraide to faint for want of blood? But yet, O wretched state in Brytaines fond, What needed they to stoope to Mordreds yoke, Or feare the man themselues so fearefull made? Had they, but lynckt like friendes in Arthurs bandes, And ioynde their force against the forren foes: These warres and ciuill sinnes had soone surceast, And Mordred reft of rule had feard his Sire. Would Gods these warres had drawne no other blood, Then such as sproong from breasts of forreine foes: So that the fountaine, fedde with chaungelesse course, Had found no neerer vents for dearer iuyce. Or if the Fates so thirst for Brytish blood, And long so deepely for our last decaie: O that the rest were sparde and safe reseru'd, Both Saxons, Danes, and Normans most of all. Heereof when ciuill warres haue worne vs out, Must Brytaine stand, a borrowed blood for Brute. When prosperous haps, and long continuing blisse, Haue past the ripenesse of their budding grouth, They fall and foulter like the mellow fruite, Surcharg'd with burden of their owne excesse. So Fortune wearyed with our often warres, Is forc'd to faint, and leaue vs to our fates. If men haue mindes presaging ought their harmes, If euer heauie heart foreweene her woe: What Brytaine liues, so far remou'd from home, In any Ayre, or Pole, or Coast abroade: But that euen now through Natures sole instinct, He feeles the fatall sword imbrue his breast, Wherewith his natiue soyle for aye is slaine? What hopes, and happes lye wasted in these warres? Who knowes the foyles he suffered in these fieldes? COme Cador, as our frendship was most firme Throughout our age, so now let's linke as fast. Thus did we liue in warres, thus let vs dye In peace, and arme in arme pertake our Fates. Our woundes, our greéfe, our wish, our hap alike, Our end so neere, all craue eche others helpe. O King, beholde the fruite of all our Fame: Lo here our Pompe consumed with our selues, What all our age with all our warres had woonne, Loe here one day hath lost it all at once. Well: so it likes the Heauens: thus Fortune gibes: She hoyseth vp to hurle the deeper downe. O sacred Prince: what sight is this we seé? Why haue the Fates reseru'd vs to these woes Our onely hope: the stay of all our Realme: The piller of our state: thus sore opprest? O would the Gods had fauour'd vs so much: That, as we liu'd partakers of your paines, And likewise ioyde the fruit of your exploytes: So hauing thus bereft our Soueraignes blisse, They had with more indifferent doome conioynd The Subiects both, and Soueraignes bane in one. It now (alas) ingendereth double greéfe, To rue your want, and to bewaile our woes.