2 The Troublesome Reign of King John · chunk 12 of 19
Anonymous · published 1611 · first performed or written 1591 (Annals) history · Queen Elizabeth's Men T31 Popes, cardinals and the crown typicality 0.82 · 515 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T31: cardinal, pope, king, lord, majesty, holy, rome, france, church, lords.
Accursed Iohn, the Devil owes thee shame, Resisting Rome, or yielding to the Pope, all's one. The devil take the Pope, the Peers, and France: Shame be my share for yielding to the Priest. Comfort thyself king Iohn, the Cardinal goes Upon his curse to make them leave their arms. Comfort my Lord, and curse the Cardinal, Betake yourself to arms, my troops are priest To answer Lewes with a lusty shock: The English archers have their quivers full, Their bows are bent, the pikes are priest to push: Good cheer my Lord, King Richard's fortune hangs Upon the plume of warlike Philip's helm. Then let them know his brother and his son Are leaders of the Englishmen at arms. Philip I know not how to answer thee: But let us hence, to answer Lewes' pride. O I am slain, Nobles, Salisbury, Pembroke, My soul is charged, hear me: for what I say Concerns the Peers of England, and their State. Listen, brave Lords, a fearful mourning tale To be delivered by a man of death. Behold these scars, the dole of bloody Mars Are harbingers from natures common foe, Citing this trunk to Tellus prison house; Life's charter (Lordings) lasteth not an hour: And fearful thoughts, forerunners of my end, Bids me give physic to a sickly soul. O Peers of England, know you what you do? There's but a hair that sunders you from harm, The hook is baited, and the train is made, And simply you run doting to your deaths. But lest I die, and leave my tale untold, With silence slaughtering so brave a crew. This I aver, if Lewes win the day, There's not an Englishman that lifts his hand Against King Iohn to plant the heir of France, But is already damned to cruel death. I heard it vowed; myself amongst the rest Swore on the Altar aid to this Edict. Two causes Lords, makes me display this drift, The greatest for the freedom of my soul, That longs to leave this mansion free from guilt: The other on a natural instinct, For that my Grandsire was an Englishman. Misdoubt not Lords the truth of my discourse, No frenzy, nor no brainsick idle fit, But well advised, and wotting what I say, Pronounce I here before the face of heaven, That nothing is discovered but a truth. 'tis time to fly, submit yourselves to Iohn, The smiles of France shade in the frowns of death, Lift up your swords, turn face against the French, Expel the yoke that's framed for your necks. Back warmen, back, embowel not the clime, Your seat, your nurse, your birth days breathing place, That bred you, bears you, brought you up in arms. Ah! be not so ingrate to dig your mother's grave, Preserve your lambs and beat away the wolf. My soul hath said, contritions penitence Lays hold on man's redemption for my sin. Farewell my Lords; witness my faith when we are met in heaven, And for my kindness give me grave room here. My soul doth fleet, world's vanities farewell.
seed 43: T38 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Accurſed Iohn, the Diuell owes thee ſhame, Reſiſting Rome, or yeelding to the Pope, all's one. The diuell take the Pope, the Peeres, and Fraunce: Shame be my ſhare for yeelding to the Prieſt. Comfort thy ſelfe king Iohn, the Cardnall goes Vpon his curſe to make them leaue their armes. Comfort my Lord, and curſe the Cardinall, Betake your ſelfe to armes, my troupes are preſt To anſwer Lewes with a luſtie ſhocke: The Engliſh archers haue their quiuers full, Their bowes are bent, the pikes are preſt to puſh: Good cheere my Lord, King Richards fortune hangs Vpon the plume of warrelike Philips helme. Then let them know his brother and his ſonne Are leaders of the Engliſhmen at armes. Philip I know not how to anſwer thee: But let vs hence, to anſwer Lewes pride. O I am ſlaine, Nobles, Salsbury, Pembrooke, My ſoule is charged, heare me: for what I ſay Concerns the Peeres of England, and their State. Liſten, braue Lords, a fearefull mourning tale To be deliuered by a man of death. Behold theſe ſcarres, the dole of bloudie Mars Are harbingers from natures common foe, Citing this truncke to Tellus priſon houſe; Lifes charter (Lordings) laſteth not an houre: And fearefull thoughts, forerunners of my end, Bids me giue phyſicke to a ſickely ſoule. O Peeres of England, know you what you do? There's but a haire that ſunders you from harme, The hooke is baited, and the traine is made, And ſimply you runne doating to your deaths. But leſt I die, and leaue my tale vntolde, With ſilence ſlaughtering ſo braue a crew. This I auerre, if Lewes winne the day, There's not an Engliſhman that lifts his hand Againſt King Iohn to plant the heire of France, But is already damnd to cruell death. I heard it vow'd; my ſelfe amongſt the reſt Swore on the Altar aide to this Edict. Two cauſes Lords, makes me diſplay this drift, The greateſt for the freedome of my ſoule, That longs to leaue this manſion free from guilt: The other on a naturall inſtinct, For that my Grandſire was an Engliſhman. Miſdoubt not Lords the truth of my diſcourſe, No frenſie, nor no brainſicke idle fit, But well aduiſde, and wotting what I ſay, Pronounce I here before the face of heauen, That nothing is diſcouered but a truth. Tis time to flie, ſubmit your ſelues to Iohn, The ſmiles of Fraunce ſhade in the frownes of death, Lift vp your ſwords, turne face againſt the French, Expell the yoke that's framed for your necks. Backe warremen, backe, imbowell not the clime, Your ſeate, your nurſe, your birth dayes breathing place, That bred you, beares you, brought you vp in armes. Ah! be not ſo ingrate to digge your mothers graue, Preſerue your lambes and beate away the wolfe. My ſoule hath ſaid, contritions penitence Laies hold on mans redemption for my ſinne. Farewell my Lords; witneſſe my faith when we are met in heauen, And for my kindneſſe giue me graue roome here. My ſoule doth fleet, worlds vanities farewell.