The Misfortunes of Arthur (Certain Devices and Shows Presented to Her Majesty) · chunk 32 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 · 496 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T25: feare, kings, power, princes, lawes, loue, state, downe, honor, men.
Let plaints and mournings pass, set moans a part. They made much of themselves: Yea too too much They loved to live, that seeing all their Realm Thus topsy-turvy turned, would grudge to die. Yea sure: since thus (O Fates) your censure seems, That free from force of foreign foes, there rests, That Mordred reap the glory of our deaths: beit so: drive on your doom, work your decree: We fearless bide what bane soe'er you bid. And though our ends thus hastened through your hests, Abruptly break the course of great attempts: Yet go we not inglorious to the ground: Set wish a part: we have performed enough. The Irish King and Nation wild we tamed: The Scots and Picts, and Orcade Isles we wan: The Danes and Goths and Friesland men, with all The Isles inserted near those Seas, And next The German King, and Saxons we subdued. Not France, that could prevail against our force, Nor lastly Rome, that rues her pride suppressed. Each foreign power is parcel of our praise, No titles want to make our foes afraid. This only now I crave (O Fortune erst My faithful friend) let it be soon forgot, Nor long in mind, nor mouth, where Arthur fell. Yea: though I Conqueror die, and full of Fame: Yet let my death and parture rest obscure. No grave I ne (O Fates) nor burial rights, Nor stately hearse, nor tomb with haughty top: But let my Carcase lurk: yea, let my death Be ay unknown, so that in every Coast I still be feared, and looked for every hour. Lo here the end that Fortune sends at last To him, whom first she heaved to highest hap. The flattering look wherewith he long was led: The smiling Fates, that oft had fed his Fame: The many wars and Conquests, which he gained, Are dasht at once: one day inferres that fo, Whereof so many years of yore were free. O willing world to magnify man's state: O most unwilling to maintain the same. Of all misfortunes and unhappy Fates, Th'unhappiest seems, to have been happy once. 'twas Arthur sole, that never found his joys Disturbed with woe, nor woes relieved with joy. In prosperous state all Heavenly powers aspired Now made a wretch, not one, that spares his spoil. Yea Fortune's self in this afflicted case, Exacts a pain for long continued pomp. She urgeth now the bliss of wonted weal, And bears him down with weight of former Fame. His praises passed be present shame: O tickle trust: Whiles Fortune chops and changeth every Chance, What certain bliss can we enjoy alive, Unless, whiles yet our bliss endures, we die? Yea: since before his last and outmost gasp, None can be deemed a happy man or blessed, Who dares commit himself to prosperous Fates, Whose death prepared attends not hard at hand? That sithence death must once determine all. His life may sooner fly, than Fortune flit.
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)
Let plaints and mournings passe, set moanes a part. They made much of themselues: Yea too too much They lou'd to liue, that seéing all their Realme Thus topsie turuey turnd, would grudge to dye. Yea sure: since thus (O Fates) your censure seemes, That freé from force of forreine foes, there rests, That Mordred reape the glory of our deaths: B'it so: driue on your doome, worke your decreé: We fearelesse bide what bane so e'r you bidde. And though our ends thus hastened through your heasts, Abruptly breake the course of great attempts: Yet goe we not inglorious to the ground: Set wish a part: we haue perfourmd inough. The Irish King and Nation wilde we tamde: The Scots and Picts, and Orcade Isles we wanne: The Danes and Gothes and Friseland men, with all The Isles inserted nere those Seas, And next The Germaine King, and Saxons we subdude. Not Fraunce, that could preuaile against our force, Nor lastly Rome, that rues her pride supprest. Ech forreine power is parcell of our praise, No titles want to make our foes affraide. This onely now I craue (O Fortune erst My faithfull friend) let it be soone forgot, Nor long in minde, nor mouth, where Arthur fell▪ Yea: though I Conquerour die, and full of Fame: Yet let my death and parture rest obscure. No graue I neéde (O Fates) nor buriall rights, Nor stately hearce, nor tombe with haughty toppe: But let my Carkasse lurke: yea, let my death Be ay vnknowen, so that in euery Coast I still be feard, and lookt for euery houre. Lo here the end that Fortune sends at last To him, whom first she heau'd to highest happe. The flattrng looke wherewith he long le The smiling Fats, that oft had fedde his Fame: The many warres and Conquests, which he ▪ Are dasht at once: one day inferres that fo, Whereof so many yeares of yore were freé. O willing world to magnifie man's state O most vnwilling to maintaine the same. Of all misfortunes and vnhappy Fates, Th'unhappiest seémes, to haue beéne hapie once. T'was Arthur sole, that neuer found his ioyes Disturb'd with woe, nor woes relieu'd with ioy. In prosperous state all Heauenly powres aspi'd Now made a wretch, not one, that spares his spoile. Yea Fortunes selfe in this afflicted case, Exacts a paine for long continued pompe. She vrgeth now the blisse of woonted weale, And beares him downe with waight of former Fam. His prayses past be present shame: O tickle trust: Whiles Fortune chops and chaungeth euery Chaunce ▪ What certaine blisse can we enioy a liue, Unlesse, whiles yet our blisse endures, we die Yea: since before his last and outmost gaspe, None can be deemde a happy man or blest, Who dares commit him selfe to prosperous Fates, Whose death preparde attends not hard at hand? That sithence death must once determine all. His life may sooner flie, then Fortune flitte.