A Looking Glass for London and England · chunk 20 of 39
Lodge, Thomas / Greene, Robert · published 1594 · first performed or written 1588 [1587-1588] (Annals) biblical play; moral · Derby's (Strange's) Men unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 489 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
Mother I see it is a wondrous thing, From base estate for to become a King: For why méethinke my brother in these fits, Hath got a kingdom, and hath lost his wits. Yet more contempt before my royalty? Slaves fetch out tortures worse than Titius' plagues, And tear their tongues from their blasphemous heads. I'll get me gone, though woe begon with grief, No hope remains, come Alcon let us wend. TTwere best you did, for fear you catch your bane, Nay Traitor, I will haunt thee to the death, Ungracious son, untoward and perverse, I'll fill the heavens with echoes of thy pride, And ring in every ear thy small regard, That dost despise thy parents in their wants, And breathing forth my soul before thy feet, My curses still shall haunt thy hateful head, And being dead, my ghost shall thee pursue. How now, what mean these outcries in our Court? Where nought should sound but harmonies of heaven, What maketh Radagon so passionate? justice O King, justice against my son. Thy son: what son? This cursed Radagon. Dread Monarch, this is but a lunacy, Which grief and want hath brought the woman to, What doth this passion hold you every Moon? Oh politic in sin and wickedness, Too impudent for to delude thy Prince. Oh Rasni this same womb first brought him forth. This is his father, worn with care and age, This is his brother, poor unhaphie lad, And I his mother, though contemned by him, With tedious toil we got our little good, And brought him up to school with much charge: Lord how we joyed to see his towardness, And to ourselves we oft in silence said, This youth when we are old may secure us. But now preferred and lifted up by thee, We quite destroyed by cursed usury, He scorneth me, his father, and this child. He plays the Serpent right, described in Aesop's tale, That sought the Foster's death that lately gave him life. Nay and please your Maiesti-ship, for proof he was my child, search the parish book, the Clerk will swear it, his godfathers and godmothers can witness it, it cost me forty pence in ale and cakes on the wives at his christening. Hence proud King, thou shalt never more have my blessing. Say sooth in secret Radagon, Is this thy father? Mighty King he is, I blushing, tell it to your Majesty. Thy dost thou then contemn him & his friends? Because he is a base and abject swain, My mother and her brat both beggarly, Unméete to be allied unto a King. Should I that look on Rasnes countenance, And march amidst his royal equipage, Embase myself to speak to such as they? TTwere impious so to impair the love That mighty Rasni bears to Radagon. I would your grace would quit them from your sight That dare presume to look on Ioues compare.
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 I sée it is a wondrous thing, From base estate for to become a King: For why méethinke my brother in these fits, Hath got a kingdome, and hath lost his wits. Yet more contempt before my royaltie? Slaues fetch out tortures worse then Titius plagues, And teare their toongs from their blasphemous heads. Ile get me gone, tho woe begon with griefe, No hope remaines, come Alcon let vs wend. Twere best you did, for feare you catch your bane, Nay Traitor, I wil haunt thée to the death, Ungratious sonne, vntoward and peruerse, Ile fill the heauens with ecchoes of thy pride, And ring in euery eare thy small regard, That doest despise thy parents in their wants, And breathing forth my soule before thy féete, My curses still shall haunt thy hatefull head, And being dead, my ghost shall thée pursue. How now, what meane these outcries in our Court? Where nought should sound but harmonies of heauen, What maketh Radagon so passionate? Iustice O King, iustice against my sonne. Thy sonne: what sonne? This cursed Radagon. Dread Monarch, this is but a lunacie, Which griefe and want hath brought the woman to, What doth this passion hold you euerie Moone? Oh polliticke in sinne and wickednesse, Too impudent for to delude thy Prince. Oh Rasni this same wombe first brought him foorth. This is his father, worne with care and age, This is his brother, poore vnhaphie lad, And I his mother, though contemn'd by him, With tedious toyle we got our litle good, And brought him vp to schoole with mickle charge: Lord how we ioy'd to sée his towardnesse, And to our selues we oft in silence said, This youth when we are old may succour vs. But now preferd and lifted vp by thée, UUe quite destroyed by cursed vsurie, He scorneth me, his father, and this childe. He plaies the Serpent right, describ'd in Aesopes tale, That sought the Fosters death that lately gaue him life. Nay and please your Maiesti-ship, for proofe he was my childe, search the parish booke, the Clarke wil sweare it, his godfathers and godmothers can witnesse it, it cost me fortie pence in ale and cakes on the wiues at his christning. Hence proud King, thou shalt neuer more haue my blessing. Say sooth in secret Radagon, Is this thy father? Mightie King he is, I blushing, tell it to your Maiestie. Thy dost thou then contemne him & his friends? Because he is a base and abiect swaine, My mother and her brat both beggarly, Unméete to be allied vnto a King. Should I that looke on Rasnes countenance, And march amidst his royall equipage, Embase my selfe to speake to such as they? Twere impious so to impaire the loue That mightie Rasni beares to Radagon. I would your grace would quit them from your sight That dare presume to looke on Ioues compare.