1 The Troublesome Reign of King John · chunk 27 of 27
Anonymous · published 1591 · first performed or written 1591 (Annals) history · Queen Elizabeth's Men T1 Death, grief and revenge typicality 0.77 · 480 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T1: death, life, dead, die, blood, revenge, soul, father, heart, heaven.
And are you gone? The devil be your guide: Proud Rebels as you are to brave me so: Saucy, uncivil, checkers of my will. Your tongues give edge unto the fatal knife: That shall have passage through your traitorous throats. But hushed, breathe not bugs words to soon abroad, Lest time prevent the issue of thy reach. Arthur is dead, I there the corzie grows: But while he lived, the danger was the more; His death hath freed me from a thousand fears, But it hath purchased me ten times ten thousand foes. Why all is one, such luck shall haunt his game, To whom the devil owes an open shame: His life a foe that leveled at my crown, His death a frame to pull my building down. My thoughts harped still on quiet by his end, Who living aimed shrewdly at my room: But to prevent that plea twice was I crowned, Twice did my subjects swear me fealty, And in my conscience loud me as their liege, In whose defence they would have pawned their lives. But now they shun me as a Serpent's sting, A tragic Tyrant stern and pitiles, And not a title follows after Iohn. But Butcher, bloodsucker and murderer, What Planet governed my nativity, To bode me sovereign types of high estate, So interlacte with hellish discontent, Wherein fell fury hath no interest. Cursed be the Crown chief author of my care, Nay cursed my will that made the Crown my care: Cursed be my birthday, cursed ten times the womb That yielded me alive into the world. Art thou there villain, Furies haunt thee still, For killing him whom all the world laments. Why here's my Lord your highness hand & scale, Charging on lives regard to do the deed. Ah dull conceited peazant know'st thou not, It was a damned execrable deed: Show'st me a seal? Oh villain, both our souls Have sold their freedom to the thrall of hell, Under the warrant of that cursed seal. Hence villain, hang thyself, and say in hell That I am coming for a kingdom there. My Lord attend the happy tale I tell, For heavens health send Satan packing hence That instigates your Highness to despair. If Arthur's death be dismal to be heard, Bandy the news for rumours of untruth: He lives my Lord the sweetest youth alive, In health, with eyesight, not a hair amiss. This heart took vigour from this forward hand, Making it weak to execute your charge. What lives he? Then sweet hope come home again, Chase hence despair, the purveyor for hell. high Hubert, tell these tidings to my Lords That throb in passions for young Arthur's death: Hence Hubert, stay not till thou hast revealed The wished news of Arthur's happy health. I go myself, the joyfull'st man alive To story out this new supposed crime.
nodes 1490–1550 (positions in the processed text, not lines of the printed book) · chunk 27 of 27 in this edition
Length
480 words · 625 tokens
Topic (seed 42)
T1 — Death, grief and revengecross-work theme (confirmed, in the genre comparison) · typicality 0.771 (cosine to the topic centroid)
Other seeds
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T1 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
And are you gone? The diuell be your guide: Proud Rebels as you are to braue me ſo: Saucie, vnciuill, checkers of my will. Your tongues giue edge vnto the fatall knife: That ſhall haue paſſage through your traitrous throats. But huſht, breath not buggs words to ſoone abroad, Leaſt time preuent the iſſue of thy reach. Arthur is dead, I there the corzie growes: But while he liude, the danger was the more; His death hath freed me from a thouſand feares, But it hath purchaſt me ten times ten thouſand foes. Why all is one, ſuch luck ſhall haunt his game, To whome the diuell owes an open ſhame: His life a foe that leueld at my crowne, His death a frame to pull my building downe. My thoughts harpt ſtill on quiet by his end, Who liuing aymed ſhrowdly at my roome: But to preuent that plea twice was I crownd, Twice did my ſubiects ſweare me fealtie, And in my conſcience loude me as their liege, In whoſe defence they would haue pawnd their liues. But now they ſhun me as a Serpents ſting, A tragick Tyrant ſterne and pitiles, And not a title followes after Iohn. But Butcher, bloudſucker and murtherer, What Planet gouernde my natiuitie, To bode me ſoueraigne types of high eſtate, So interlacte with helliſh diſcontent, Wherein fell furie hath no intereſt. Curſt be the Crowne chiefe author of my care, Nay curſt my will that made the Crowne my care: Curſt be my birthday, curſt ten times the wombe That yeelded me aliue into the world. Art thou there villaine, Furies haunt thee ſtill, For killing him whom all the world laments. Why heres my Lord your Highnes hand & ſcale, Charging on liues regard to doo the deede. Ah dull conceipted peazant knowſt thou not, It was a damned execrable deede: Showſt me a ſeale? Oh villaine, both our ſoules Haue ſolde their freedome to the thrall of hell, Vnder the warrant of that curſed ſeale. Hence villaine, hang thy ſelfe, and ſay in hell That I am comming for a kingdome there. My Lord attend the happie tale I tell, For heauens health ſend Sathan packing hence That inſtigates your Highnes to deſpaire. If Arthurs death be diſmall to be heard, Bandie the newes for rumors of vntruth: He liues my Lord the ſweeteſt youth aliue, In health, with eyſight, not a haire amiſſe. This hart tooke vigor from this forward hand, Making it weake to execute your charge. What liues he? Then ſweete hope come home agen, Chaſe hence deſpire, the purueyer for hell. Hye Hubert, tell theſe tidings to my Lords That throb in paſſions for yong Arthurs death: Hence Hubert, ſtay not till thou haſt reueald The wiſhed newes of Arthurs happy health. I goe my ſelfe, the ioyfulſt man aliue To ſtorie out this new ſuppoſed crime.