2 The Troublesome Reign of King John · chunk 13 of 19
Anonymous · published 1611 · first performed or written 1591 (Annals) history · Queen Elizabeth's Men T38 Death, parting and grief at court typicality 0.83 · 497 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T38: queen, king, death, dead, heart, life, die, lord, royal, news.
Now joy betid thy soul wellmeaning man, How now my Lords, what cooling card is this? A greater grief grows now than erst hath been. What counsel give you, shall we stay and die? Or shall we home, and kneel unto the King. My heart misgave this sad accursed news: What have we done? fie Lords, what frenzy moved Our hearts to yield unto the pride of France? If we persever, we are sure to die: If we desist, small hope again of life. Bear hence the body of this wretched man, That made us wretched with his dying tale, And stand not wailing on our present harms, As women wont: but seek our harms redress. As for myself, I will in haste be gone: And kneel for pardon to our sovereign Iohn. ay, there's the way, le's rather kneel to him, Than to the French that would confound us all. Set down, set down the load not worth your pain, For done I am with deadly wounding grief: Sickly and succourless, hopeless of any good, The world hath wearied me, and I have wearied it: It loathes I live, I live and loath myself. Who pities me? to whom have I been kind? But to a few; a few will pity me. Why die I not? Death scorns so wild a prey. Why live I not, life hates so sad a prize. I sue to both to be retained of either, But both are deaf, I can be heard of neither. Nor death nor life, yet life and near the near, Ymixt with death, biding I wot not where. How fares my Lord, that he is carried thus? Not all the awkward fortunes yet befallen, Made such impression of lament in me. Nor ever did my eye attaint my heart With any object moving more remorse, Than now beholding of a mighty King, Borne by his Lords in such distressed State. What news with thee? if bad, report it straight▪ If good, be mute, it doth but flatter me. Such as it is, and heavy though it be, To glut the world with tragic elegies, Once will I breath to aggravate the rest, Another moan to make the measure full. The bravest bowman had not yet sent forth Two arrows from the quiver at his side, But that a rumour went throughout our Camp, That Iohn was fled, the King had left the field. At last the rumour scaled these ears of mine, Who rather chose as sacrifice for Mars, Than ignominious scandal by retire. I cheered the troops, as did the prince of Troy His weary followers 'gainst the Myrmidons, Crying aloud, S. George, the day is ours. But fear had captivated courage quite, And like the Lamb before the greedy Wolf, So heartless fled our war-men from the field. Short tale to make, myself amongst the rest, Was fain to fly before the eager foe. By this time night had shadowed all the earth,
seed 43: T44 · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Now ioy betide thy ſoule well-meaning man, How now my Lords, what cooling carde is this? A greater griefe growes now than earſt hath beene. What counſell giue you, ſhall we ſtay and die? Or ſhall we home, and kneele vnto the King. My heart miſgaue this ſad accurſed newes: What haue we done? fie Lords, what frenſie moued Our hearts to yeeld vnto the pride of Fraunce? If we perſeuer, we are ſure to die: If we deſiſt, ſmall hope againe of life. Beare hence the body of this wretched man, That made vs wretched with his dying tale, And ſtand not wayling on our preſent harmes, As women wont: but ſeeke our harmes redreſſe. As for my ſelfe, I will in haſte be gone: And kneele for pardon to our ſoueraigne Iohn. I, there's the way, lets rather kneele to him, Than to the French that would confound vs all. Set downe, ſet downe the loade not woorth your paine, For done I am with deadly wounding griefe: Sickely and ſuccourleſſe, hopeleſſe of any good, The world hath wearied me, and I haue wearied it: It loathes I liue, I liue and loathe my ſelfe. Who pities me? to whom haue I beene kinde? But to a few; a few will pitie me. Why die I not? Death ſcornes ſo vilde a prey. Why liue I not, life hates ſo ſad a prize. I ſue to both to be retaind of either, But both are deafe, I can be heard of neither. Nor death nor life, yet life and neare the neere, Ymixt with death, biding I wot not where. How fares my Lord, that he is carried thus? Not all the aukeward fortunes yet befalne, Made ſuch impreſſion of lament in me. Nor euer did my eye attaint my heart With any obiect moouing more remorſe, Than now beholding of a mighty King, Borne by his Lords in ſuch diſtreſſed State. What newes with thee? if bad, report it ſtraight▪ If good, be mute, it doth but flatter me. Such as it is, and heauy though it be, To glut the world with tragicke elegies, Once will I breathe to aggrauate the reſt, Another moane to make the meaſure full. The braueſt bow-man had not yet ſent forth Two arrowes from the quiuer at his ſide, But that a rumor went throughout our Campe, That Iohn was fled, the King had left the field. At laſt the rumor ſcal'd theſe eares of mine, Who rather choſe as ſacrifice for Mars, Than ignominious ſcandall by retire. I cheer'd the troupes, as did the prince of Troy His weary followers gainſt the Mermidons, Crying alowd, S. George, the day is ours. But feare had captiuated courage quite, And like the Lambe before the greedie Wolfe, So heartleſſe fled our war-men from the field. Short tale to make, my ſelfe amongſt the reſt, Was faine to flie before the eager foe. By this time night had ſhadowed all the earth,