2 The Troublesome Reign of King John · chunk 4 of 19
Anonymous · published 1611 · first performed or written 1591 (Annals) history · Queen Elizabeth's Men unassigned nearest T31 Popes, cardinals and the crown · 472 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T31: cardinal, pope, king, lord, majesty, holy, rome, france, church, lords.
Why so it must be: one hour of content, Matched with a month of passionate effects. Why shines the Sun to favour this consort? Why do the winds not break their brazen gates, And scatter all these perjured complices, With all their counsels, and their damned drifts? But see the welkin rolleth gently on, There's not a lowering cloud to frown on them; The heaven, the earth, the sun, the moon and all, Conspire with those confederates my decay. Then hell for me, if any power be there, Forsake that place, and guide me step by step, To poison, strangle, murder in their steps These traitors: oh that name is too good for them, And death is easy: is there nothing worse, To wreak me on this proud peacebreaking crew? What sayst thou Philip? why assists thou not? These curses (good my Lord) fit not the season: Help must descend from heaven against this treason? Nay thou wilt prove a traitor with the rest, Go get thee to them, shame come to you all. I would be loath to leave your Highness thus, Yet you command, and I, though grieved, will go. Ah Philip, whither go'st thou? come again. My Lord, these motions are as passions of a mad man. A mad man Philip, I am mad indeed, My heart is mazed, my senses all foredone. And Iohn of England now is quite undone. Was ever King as I oppressed with cares? Dame Elinor my noble mother Queen, My only hope and comfort in distress, Is dead, and England excommunicate, And I am interdicted by the Pope, All Churches cursed, their doors are sealed up, And for the pleasure of the Romish Priest, The service of the Highest is neglected, The multitude (a beast of many heads) Do wish confusion to their sovereign; The Nobles blinded with ambition's fumes, Assemble powers to beat mine Empire down, And more than this, elect a foreign king. O England, wert thou ever miserable, King Iohn of England sees thee miserable: Iohn, 'tis thy sins that makes it miserable, Quicquid delirunt Reges, plectuntur Achivi. Philip, as thou hast ever loved thy King, So show it now: post to S. Edmund's Bury, Dissemble with the Nobles, know their drifts, Confound their devilish plots, and damned devices. Though Iohn be faulty, yet let subjects bear, He will amend, and right the people's wrongs. A mother though she were unnatural, Is better than the kindest stepdame is: Let never Englishman trust foreign rule. Then Philip show thy fealty to thy King, And 'mongst the Nobles plead thou for the King. I go my Lord: see how he is distraught, This is the cursed Priest of Italy Hath heaped these mischiefs on this hapless land. Now Philip, hadst thou Tully's eloquence, Then might'st thou hope to plead with good success.
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)
Why ſo it muſt be: one houre of content, Match'd with a month of paſſionate effects. Why ſhines the Sunne to fauour this conſort? Why doe the winds not breake their brazen gates, And ſcatter all theſe periur'd complices, With all their counſels, and their damned drifts? But ſee the welkin rolleth gently on, There's not a lowring cloud to frowne on them; The heauen, the earth, the ſunne, the moone and all, Conſpire with thoſe confederates my decay. Then hell for me, if any power be there, Forſake that place, and guide me ſtep by ſtep, To poyſon, ſtrangle, murder in their ſteps Theſe traytors: oh that name is too good for them, And death is eaſie: is there nothing worſe, To wreake me on this proud peace-breaking crew? What ſaiſt thou Philip? why aſſiſts thou not? Theſe curſes (good my Lord) fit not the ſeaſon: Help muſt deſcend from heauen againſt this treaſon? Nay thou wilt proue a traytor with the reſt, Goe get thee to them, ſhame come to you all. I would be loath to leaue your Highneſſe thus, Yet you command, and I, though grieu'd, will goe. Ah Philip, whither go'ſt thou? come againe. My Lord, theſe motions are as paſſions of a mad man. A mad man Philip, I am mad indeed, My heart is maz'd, my ſences all foredone. And Iohn of England now is quite vndone. Was euer King as I oppreſt with cares? Dame Elianor my noble mother Queene, My onely hope and comfort in diſtreſſe, Is dead, and England excommunicate, And I am interdicted by the Pope, All Churches curſt, their doores are ſealed vp, And for the pleaſure of the Romiſh Prieſt, The ſeruice of the Higheſt is neglected, The multitude (a beaſt of many heads) Doe wiſh confuſion to their ſoueraigne; The Nobles blinded with ambitions fumes, Aſſemble powers to beate mine Empire downe, And more than this, elect a forrein king. O England, wert thou euer miſerable, King Iohn of England ſees thee miſerable: Iohn, tis thy ſinnes that makes it miſerable, Quicquid delirunt Reges, plectuntur Achiui. Philip, as thou haſt euer lou'd thy King, So ſhow it now: poſt to S. Edmunds Burie, Diſſemble with the Nobles, know their drifts, Confound their diuelliſh plots, and damn'd deuiſes. Though Iohn be faultie, yet let ſubiects beare, He will amend, and right the peoples wrongs. A mother though ſhee were vnnaturall, Is better than the kindeſt ſtep-dame is: Let neuer Engliſhman truſt forraine rule. Then Philip ſhew thy fealty to thy King, And mongſt the Nobles plead thou for the King. I goe my Lord: ſee how he is diſtraught, This is the curſed Prieſt of Italy Hath heap'd theſe miſchiefes on this hapleſſe land. Now Philip, hadſt thou Tullies eloquence, Then might'ſt thou hope to plead with good ſucceſſe.