The Misfortunes of Arthur (Certain Devices and Shows Presented to Her Majesty) · chunk 30 of 35
Hughes, Thomas / Fulbecke, William · published 1587 · first performed or written 1588 [Feb 28] (Annals) tragedy · before the Court unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 483 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
Rue not my Britons what my rage hath wrought, But blame your King, that thus hath rent your Realm. My meanless moods have made the Fates thus fell, And too much anger wrought in me too much. For had impatient ire endured abuse, And yielded where resistance threatened spoil? I mought have lived in foreign coasts unfoiled, And six score thousand men had been unmoaned. But wrong incensing wrath to take revenge Preferred Chance before a better choice. 'twas Mordred's wrong and to unjust deserts That justly moved your Highness to such wrath: Your claim required no less than those attempts: Your cause right good was praised, and prayed for most. I claimed my Crown, the cause of claim was good, The means to claim it in such sort was bad. Yea: rather than my Realm and native soil Should wounded fall, thus bruised with these wars: I should have left both Realm, and right, and all: Or dured the death ordained by Mordred'S oath. And yet so far as Mars could bide a mean, You hateless sought the safeguard of them all. Whereto the better cause, or badder Chance Did draw, you still inclined: preferring oft The weaker side, sometimes for love, sometimes For right, (as Fortune swayed) your Son, yourself. So pity spared, what reason sought to spoil: Till all at length, with equal spoil was spent. Would God's your mind had felt no such remorse, And that your foes had no such favour found. So mought your friends have had far friendlier Fates, If Rebels for their due deserts had dyde. The wickeds' death is safety to the just. To spare the Traitors, was to spoil the true. Of force he hurts the good, that helps the bad. In that you sought your country's gain, 'twas well: In that you shunned not her loss, 'twas hard. Good is the friend, that seeks to do us good: A mighty friend, that doth prevent our harms. Well: so it was: it cannot be redressed: The greater is my grief, that seés it so. My life (I feel) doth fade, and sorrows flow, The rather that my name is thus extinct. In this respect, so Mordred did succeed, O, that myself had fallen, and Mordred lived: That having conquered all my foes but him, I mought have left you him, that conquered me. O heavy wretched lot: to be the last That falls, to view the burial of my Realm. Where each man else hath fealt his several Fate, I only pine oppressed with all their Fates. Although your Highness do sustain such greed, As needs enforceth all your Realm to rue: Yet since such ruth affordeth no relief, Let due discretion suage each cureless sore, And bear the harms, that run without redress. The loss is ours, that loose so rare a Prince, You only win, that see your foe here foiled.
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)
Rue not my Brytaines what my rage hath wrought, But blame your King, that thus hath rent your Realme. My meanelesse moodes haue made the Fates thus fell, And too much anger wrought in me too much. For had impatient ire indu'rde abuse, And yeélded where resistance threatned spoyle? I mought haue liu'd in forreine coastes vnfoilde, And six score thousand men had bene vnmoande. But wrong incensing wrath to take reuenge Preferred Chaunce before a better choyse. T'was Mordreds wrong and to vniust desertes That iustly mooude your Highnesse to such wrath: Your claime requir'd no lesse then those attempts: Your cause right good was prais'd, and praide for most. I claimd my Crowne, the cause of claime was good, The meanes to clame it in such sorte was bad. Yea: rather then my Realme and natiue soile Should wounded fall, thus brused with these warres: I should haue left both Realme, and right, and all: Or dur'd the death ordaind by ordreds oath. And yet so farre as Mars coulde bide a meane, You hatelesse sought the safegard of them all. Whereto the better cause, or badder Chaunce Did drawe, you still inclinde: preferring oft The weaker side, sometimes for loue, sometimes For right, (as Fortune swaide) your Sonne, your selfe. So pittie spar'd, what reason sought to spoyle: Till all at length, with equall spoyle was spent. Would Gods your minde had felt no such remorse, And that your foes had no such fauour founde. So mought your friends haue had far frendlier Fates, If Rebels for their due deserts had dyde. The wickeds death is safety to the iust. To spare the Traitors, was to spoile the true. Of force he hurtes the good, that helpes the bad. In that you sought your Countries gaine, t'was well: In that you shunned not her losse, t'was hard. Good is the frend, that seekes to do vs good: A mighty frend, that doth preuent our harmes. Well: so it was: it cannot be redrest: The greater is my greefe, that seés it so. My lyfe (I feele) doth fade, and sorrowes flowe, The rather that my name is thus extinct. In this respect, so Mordred did succeede, O, that my selfe had falne, and Mordred liu'd▪ That hauing conquer'd all my foes but him, I mought haue left you him, that conquer'd me. O heauie wretched lotte: to be the last That falles, to viewe the buriall of my Realme. Where each man else hath fealt his seuerall Fate, I onely pine opprest with all their Fates. Although your Highnesse do susteine such greée, As needes enforceth all your Realme to rue: Yet since such ruth affordeth no releefe, Let due discretion swage each curelesse sore, And beare the harmes, that run without redresse. The losse is ours, that loose so rare a Prince, You onely in, that see your foe here folde.