Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T43: henry, king, richard, warwick, york, edward, father, duke, crown, son.
Philippus atavis a●dite Regibus. What sayst thou Philip, sprung of ancient Kings? Quo me rapit tempestas? What wind of honour blows this fury forth? Or whence proeede these fumes of Majesty? Me thinks I hear a hollow Echo sound, That Philip is the Son unto a King: The whistling leaves upon the trembling trees, Whistle in consort I am Richard's Son: The bubbling murmur of the waters fall, Records Philippus Regius filius: Birds in their flight make music with their wings, Filling the air with glory of my birth: Birds, bubbles, leaves, and mountains, Echo, all Ring in mine ears, that I am Richard's Son. Fond man, ah whether art thou carried? How are thy thoughts ywrapt in honours heaven? Forgetful what thou art, and whence thou camest. Thy Father's land cannot maintain these thoughts, These thoughts are far unfitting Fauconbridge: And well they may; for why this monnting mind Doth soar too high to stoop to Fauconbridge. Why how now? knowest thou where thou art? And knowest thou who expects thine answer here? Wilt thou upon a frantic madding vain Go lose thy land, and say thyself base borne? No, keep thy land, though Richard were thy Sire, What ere thou thinkest, say thou art Fauconbridge. Speak man, be sudden, who thy Father was. Please it your Majesty, Sir Robert Philip, that Fauconbridge cleaves to thy jaws: It will not out, I cannot for my life Say I am Son unto a Fauconbridge. Let land and living go, 'tis honours fire That makes me swear King Richard was my Sire. Base to a King adds title of more State, Than Knights begotten, though legitimate. Please it your Grace, I am King Richard's Son. Robert revive thy heart, let sorrow die, His faltering tongue not suffers him to lie. What headstrong fury doth enchant my son? Philip cannot repent for he hath done. Then Philip blame not me, thyself hast lost By wilfulness, thy living and thy land. Robert, thou art the heir of Fauconbridge, God give thee joy, greater than thy desert. Why how now Philip, give away thine own? Madame, I am bold to make myself your nephew, The poorest kinsman that your Highness hath: And with this Proverb gi'en the world anew, Help hands, I have no lands, honour is my desire; Let Philip live to show himself worthy so great a Sire. Philip, I think thou knewst thy Grandams mind: But cheer thee boy, I will not see thee want As long as Elinor hath foot of land; Henceforth thou shalt be taken for my son, And wait on me and on thine Uncle here, Who shall give honour to thy noble mind. Philip kneel down, that thou mayst thoroughly know How much thy resolution pleaseth us, Rise up Sir Richard Plantagenet K. Richard's Son. Grant heavens that Philip once may show himself Worthy the honour of Plantagenet, Or basest glory of a Bastard's name.
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)
Philippus atauis adite Regibus. What ſaiſt thou Philip, ſprung of auncient Kings? Quo me rapit tempestas? What winde of honour blowes this furie forth? Or whence proeede theſe fumes of Maieſtie? Me thinkes I heare a hollow Eccho ſound, That Philip is the Sonne vnto a King: The whiſtling leaues vpon the trembling trees, Whiſtle in conſort I am Richards Sonne: The bubling murmur of the waters fall, Records Philippus Regius filius: Birds in their flight make muſicke with their wings, Filling the ayre with glorie of my birth: Birds, bubbles, leaues, and mountaines, Eccho, all Ring in mine eares, that I am Richards Sonne. Fond man, ah whether art thou carried? How are thy thoughts ywrapt in Honors heauen? Forgetfull what thou art, and whence thou camſt. Thy Fathers land cannot maintaine theſe thoughts, Theſe thoughts are farre vnfitting Fauconbridge: And well they may; for why this monnting minde Doth ſoare too high to ſtoupe to Fauconbridge. Why how now? knoweſt thou where thou art? And knoweſt thou who expects thine anſwere here? Wilt thou vpon a frantick madding vaine Goe looſe thy land, and ſay thy ſelfe baſe borne? No, keepe thy land, though Richard were thy Sire, What ere thou thinkſt, ſay thou art Fauconbridge. Speake man, be ſodaine, who thy Father was. Pleaſe it your Maieſtie, Sir Robert Philip, that Fauconbridge cleaues to thy iawes: It will not out, I cannot for my life Say I am Sonne vnto a Fauconbridge. Le land and liuing goe, tis honors fire That makes me ſweare King Richard was my Sire. Baſe to a King addes title of more State, Than Knights begotten, though legittimate. Pleaſe it your Grace, I am King Richards Sonne. Robert reuiue thy heart, let ſorrow die, His faltring tongue not ſuffers him to lie. What head-ſtrong furie doth enchaunt my ſonne? Philip cannot repent for he hath done. Then Philip blame not me, thy ſelfe haſt loſt By wilfulneſſe, thy liuing and thy land. Robert, thou art the heire of Fauconbridge, God giue thee ioy, greater than thy deſert. Why how now Philip, giue away thine owne? Madame, I am bold to make my ſelfe your nephew, The pooreſt kinſman that your Highnes hath: And with this Prouerb gin the world anew, Help hands, I haue no lands, honour is my deſire; Let Philip liue to ſhew himſelfe worthie ſo great a Sire. Philip, I think thou knewſt thy Grandams minde: But chéere thée boy, I will not ſee thée want As long as Elinor hath foote of land; Henceforth thou ſhalt be taken for my ſonne, And waite on me and on thine Vnckle heere, Who ſhall giue honour to thy noble minde. Philip kneele down, that thou maiſt throughly know How much thy reſolution pleaſeth vs, Riſe vp Sir Richard Plantaginet K. Richards Sonne. Graunt heauens that Philip once may ſhew himſelf Worthie the honour of Plantaginet, Or baſeſt glorie of a Baſtards name.