1 The Troublesome Reign of King John · chunk 19 of 27
Anonymous · published 1591 · first performed or written 1591 (Annals) history · Queen Elizabeth's Men unassigned nearest T10 England and France: war, embassy and pea · 509 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T10: france, french, england, king, lord, english, edward, talbot, peace, lords.
Mother, he never will forget his claim, I would he lived not to remember it. But leaving this, we will to England now, And take some order with our Popelings there, That swell with pride, and fat of lay men's lands. I make thee chief in this affair, Ransack the Abbeys, Cloisters, Priories, Convert their coin unto my soldiers use: And whatsoe'er he be within my Land, That goes to Rome for justice and for law, While he may have his right within the Realm, Let him be judged a traitor to the State, And suffer as an enemy to England. Mother, we leave you here beyond the seas, As Regent of our Provinces in France, While we to England take a speedy course, And thank our God that gave us victory. Hubert de Burgh take Arthur here to thee, Be he thy prisoner: Hubert keep him safe, For on his life doth hang thy Sovereign's crown, But in his death consists thy Sovereign's bliss: Then Hubert, as thou shortly hearst from me, So use the prisoner I have given in charge. Frolic young Prince, though I your keeper be, Yet shall your keeper live at your command. As please my God, so shall become of me. My Son to England, I will see thee ships, And pray to God to send thee safe ashore. Now wars are done, I long to be at home To dive into the Monks and Abbot's bags. To make some sport among the smooth skin Nuns, And keep some revel with the fanzen Friars. To England Lords, each look unto your charge, And arm yourselves against the Roman pride. What every man attached with this mishap? Why frown you so, why droop ye Lords of France? Me thinks it differs from a warlike mind To lower it for a check or two of chance. Had Lymoges escaped the bastard's spite, A little sorrow might have served our loss. Brave Austria, heaven joys to have thee there. His soul is safe and free from Purgatory, Our holy Father hath dispensed his sins, The blessed Saints have heard our orisons, And all are Mediators for his soul, And in the right of these most holy wars, His holiness free pardon doth pronounce To all that follow you 'gainst English heretics, Who stand accursed in our mother Church. To aggravate the measure of our grief, All malcontent comes Constance for her Son. Be brief good Madam, for your face imports A tragic tale behind that's yet untold. Her passions stop the organ of her voice, Deep sorrow throbbeth misbefalne events, Out with it Lady, that our Act may end A full Catastrophe of sad laments. My tongue is tuned to story forth mishap: When did I breath to tell a pleasing tale? Must Constance speak? let tears prevent her talk: Must I discourse? let Did● sigh and say, She weeps again to hear the wrack of Troy: Two words will serve, and then my tale is done: Elnors proud brat hath robbed me of my Son.
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)
Mother, he neuer will forget his claime, I would he liude not to remember it. But leauing this, we will to England now, And take ſome order with our Popelings there, That ſwell with pride, and fat of lay mens lands. I make thee chiefe in this affaire, Ranſack the Abbeys, Cloyſters, Priories, Conuert their coyne vnto my ſouldiers vſe: And whatſoere he be within my Land, That goes to Rome for iuſtice and for law, While he may haue his right within the Realme, Let him be iudgde a traitor to the State, And ſuffer as an enemie to England. Mother, we leaue you here beyond the ſeas, As Regent of our Prouinces in Fraunce, While we to England take a ſpeedie courſe, And thanke our God that gaue vs victorie. Hubert de Burgh take Arthur here to thee, Be he thy priſoner: Hubert kéepe him ſafe, For on his life doth hang thy Soueraignes crowne, But in his death conſiſts thy Soueraignes bliſſe: Then Hubert, as thou ſhortly hearſt from me, So vſe the priſoner I haue giuen in charge. Frolick yong Prince, though I your keeper bee, Yet ſhall your kéeper liue at your commaund. As pleaſe my God, ſo ſhall become of me. My Sonne to England, I will ſee thee ſhip, And pray to God to ſend thee ſafe aſhore. Now warres are done, I long to be at home To diue into the Monkes and Abbots bags. To make ſome ſport among the ſmooth ſkin Nunnes, And keepe ſome reuell with the fanzen Friers. To England Lords, each looke vnto your charge, And arme yourſelues againſt the Romane pride. What euery man attacht with this miſhap? Why frowne you ſo, why droop ye Lords of Fraunce? Me thinkes it differs from a warlike minde To lowre it for a checke or two of chaunce. Had Lymoges eſcapt the baſtards ſpight, A little ſorrow might haue ſerude our loſſe. Braue Austria, heauen ioyes to haue thee there. His ſowle is ſafe and free from Purgatorie, Our holy Father hath diſpenſt his ſinnes, The bleſſed Saints haue heard our oriſons, And all are Mediators for his ſoule, And in the right of theſe moſt holy warres, His holines free pardon doth pronounce To all that follow you gainſt Engliſh heretiques, Who ſtand accurſed in our mother Church. To aggrauate the meaſure of our griefe, All malcontent comes Conſtance for her Sonne. Be briefe good Madame, for your face imports A tragick ale behinde thats yet vntolde. Her paſſions ſtop the organ of her voyce, Deepe ſorrow throbbeth miſbefalne euents, Out with it Ladie, that our Act may end A full Cataſtrophe of ſad laments. My tongue is tunde to ſtorie forth miſhap: When did I breath to tell a pleaſing tale? Muſt Conſtance ſpeake? let teares preuent her talke: Muſt I diſcourſe? let Did ſigh and ſay, She weepes againe to heare the wrack of Troy: Two words will ſerue, and then my tale is done: Elors proud brat hath robd me of my Sonne.