The Misfortunes of Arthur (Certain Devices and Shows Presented to Her Majesty) · chunk 31 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 · 525 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
A causeless foe. When wars did call me hence He was in years but young, in wit too old. As virtue shineth most in comeliest wights, When inward gifts are decked with outward grace: So did his wit and feature feed that hope, Which falsely trained me to this woeful hap. His mind transformed thus, I cannot choose But long to see what change his face sustains. My blood and kindred doubled in his birth, Inspires a mixed, and twice descending love, Which drives my dying veins to wish his view. Unhelm his luckless head, set bare his face: That face which erst pleased me and mine to much. See (worthiest King) the hope of all your Realm, Had not his lust to rule prevented all. I see (alas) I see (hide, hide again: O spare mine eyes) a witness of my crimes: A fearful vision of my former guilt: A dreadful horror of a future doom: A present gall of mind. O happy they, Whose spotless lives attain a dreadless death. And thou, O hapless boy, O spite of Fates, (What mought I term thee, Nephew, Son, or both?) Alas, how happy should we both have been, If no ambitious thought had vexed thy head, Nor thou thus stemmed to reave thy Father's rule, But stain thy time, and not forestalled us both? The hot spurred youth that forced the forward steeds, Whiles needs he would his Fathers Chariot guide, Neglecting what his Sire had said in charge, The fires, which first he flung about the poles, Himself at last most woeful wretch inflamed. So to much love to hover in the Heavens Made him to pay the price of rash attempts. What ruth, (ah,) rent the woeful Father's heart, That saw himself thus made a Sonless Sire? Well: since both Heavens and Hell conspired in one, To make our ends a mirror to the world, Both of incestuous life, and wicked birth: Would Gods the Fates that linked our faults alike, Had also framed our minds of friendlier moulds: That, as our lineage had approached too near, So our affections had not swerved to far. Then mought I lived t'enlarge the Britons praise, In rearing efts the first triumphant Troy And after thou succeéding mine attempts, Have spent thy courage in a juster cause. But 'twould not be: Ambition grew to great: We could not join our minds: our Fates we joined: And through thy blood, a way was made to mine. And must we needs (O worthiest Peers) forego, By this untimely Fate our greatest hope? That in your ripest years and likeliest time, Your chiefest force should on this sudden fall? Have you throughout your youth made Britain pomp A Sovereign of so many Nations stout, To th'end ere half your age untimely death Should leave us Subject to our wonted foils? See, see, our idle hopes, our brittle trust, Our vain desires, our over fickle state. Which, though a while they sail on quiet seas, Yet sink in surge, ere they arrive to hood. O woeful wars, O Mordred's cursed pride, That thus hath wrought both King, and kingdoms woe.
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)
A causelesse foe. When warres did call me hence He was in yeares but young, in wit too olde. As vertue shineth most in comliest wightes, When inward gifts are deckt with outward grace: So did his witte and feature fede that hope, Which falsely trainde me to this wofull hap. His minde transformed thus, I cannot chuse But long to see what change his face sustaines. My blood and kinred doubled in his birth, Inspirs a mixt, and t'wice descending loue, Which driues my dying vaines to wish his view. Unhealme his luckelesse head, set bare his face: That face which earst pleas'd me and mine to much. Seé (worthest King) the hope of all your Realme, Had not his lust to rule preuented all. I see (alas) I see (hide, hide againe: O spare mine eyes) a witnesse of my crimes: A fearefull vision of my former guilte: A dreadfull horror of a future doome: A present gaule of minde. O happie they, Whose spotlesse liues attaine a dreadlesse death. And thou, O haplesse boye, O spight of Fates, (What mought I terme thee, Nephew, Sonne, or both?) Alas, how happie should we both haue bene, If no ambitious thought had vext thy head, Nor thou thus stm'de to reaue thy Fathers rule, But staie thy tyme, and not forstalde vs both? The hoat spurde youth that forste the forward steédes, Whiles neédes he would his Fathers Chariot guide, Neglecting what his Sire had said in charge, The fires, which first he flung about the poles, Himselfe at last most wofull wretch inflamde. So to much loue to houer in the Heauens Made him to paie the price of rash attemptes. Wha ruth, (ah,) rent the wofull Fathers hart, That sawe himselfe thus made a Sonnelesse Sire? Well: since both Heauens and Hell conspir'd in one, To make our endes a mirror to the worlde, Both of incestious life, and wicked birth: Would Gods the Fates that linckt our faultes alike, Had also fram'de our minds of frendlier mouldes: That, as our linage had approcht too neere, So our affections had not swaru'd to farre. Then mought I liu'd t'inlarge the Brytaines praise, In rearing efts the first triumphant Troy And after thou succeéding mine attempts, Haue spent thy courage in a iuster cause. But t'would not be: Ambition grew to greate: We could not ioyne our mindes: our Fates we ioynde: And through thy blood, a way was made to mine. And must we neédes (O worthiest Peéres) forgoe, By this vntimely Fate our greatest hope? That in your ripest yeares and likelyest time, Your chiefest force should on this sodaine fall? Haue you throughout your youth made Brytaines pompe A Soueraigne of so many Nations stout, To th'end ere halfe your age vntimely death Should leaue vs Subiect to our woonted foiles? See▪ seé, our idle hopes, our brittle trust, Our vaine desires, our ouer fickle state. Which, though a while they sayle on quiet seas, Yet sinke in surge, ere they ariue to hode. O wofull warres, O Mordreds cursed pride, That thus hath wrought both King, and Kingdomes woe▪