Marlowe, Christopher · published 1594 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1593] (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men unassigned nearest T18 Rebels, barons and the king's wars at ho · 517 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
Spencer the son, created earl of Gloster, Is with that smooth tongued scholar Baldock gone, And shipped but late for Ireland with the king. Some whirl wind fetch them back, or sink them all: They shallbe started thence I doubt it not. Shall I not see the king my father yet? Unhappy Edward, chased from England's bounds. Madam, what resteth, why stand ye in a muse? I rue my lords ill fortune, but alas, Care of my country called me to this war. Madam, have done with care & sad complain, Your king hath wronged your country and himself, And we must seek to right it as we may, meanwhile, have hence this rebel to the block, Your lordship cannot privilege your head. Rebel is he that fights against his prince, So fought not they that fought in Edward's right. Take him away, he prates, you Rice ap howell, Shall do good service to her Majesty, Being of countenance in your country here, To follow these rebellious runagates, We in meanwhile madam, must take advise, How Baldock, Spencer, and their complices, May in their fall be followed to their end. Have you no doubt my Lord, have you no fear, As silent and as careful will we be, To keep your royal person safe with us, Free from suspect, and fell invasion Of such as have your majesty in chase, yourself, and those your chosen company, As danger of this stormy time requires. Father, thy face should harbour no deceit, O hadst thou ever been a king, thy heart Pierced deeply with sense of my distress, Could not but take compassion of my state, Stately and proud, in riches and in train, Whilom I was powerful and full of pomp, But what is he, whom rule and empery Have not in life or death made miserable? Come Spencer, come Baldock, come sit down by me, Make trial now of that philosophy, That in our famous nurseries of arts Thou suckedst from Plato, and from Aristotle. Father, this life contemplative is heaven, O that I might this life in quiet lead, But we alas are chaste, and you my friends, Your lives and my dishonour they pursue Yet gentle monks, for treasure, gold nor fee, Do you betray us and our company. Your grace may sit secure, if none but we do wot of your abode. Not one alive, but shrewdly I suspect, A gloomy fellow in a mead below, 'a gave a long look after us my lord, And all the land I know is up in arms, Arms that pursue our lives with deadly hate. We were embarked for Ireland, wretched we, With awkward winds, and sore tempests driven To fall on shore, and here to pine in fear Of Mortimer and his confederates. Mortimer, who talks of Mortimer, Who wounds me with the name of Mortimer That bloody man? good father on thy lap Lay I this head, laden with mickle care, O might I never open these eyes again, Never again lift up this drooping head, O never more lift up this dying heart!
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)
Spencer the sonne, created earle of Gloster, Is with that smoothe toongd scholler Baldock gone, And shipt but late for Ireland with the king. Some whirle winde fetche them backe, or sincke them all: They shalbe started thence I doubt it not. Shall I not see the king my father yet? Vnhappies Edward, chaste from Englands bounds. Madam, what resteth, why stand ye in a muse? I rue my lords ill fortune, but alas, Care of my countrie cald me to this warre. Madam, haue done with care & sad complaine, Your king hath wrongd your countrie and himselfe, And we must seeke to right it as we may, Meane while, haue hence this rebell to the blocke, Your lordship cannot priuiledge your head. Rebell is he that fights against his prince, So fought not they that fought in Edwards right. Take him away, he prates, you Rice ap howell, Shall do good seruice to her Maiestie, Being of countenance in your countrey here, To follow these rebellious runnagates, We in meane while madam, must take aduise, How Baldocke, Spencer, and their complices, May in their fall be followed to their end. Haue you no doubt my Lorde, haue you no feare, As silent and as carefull will we be, To keepe your royall person safe with vs, Free from suspect, and fell inuasion Of such as haue your maiestie in chase, Your selfe, and those your chosen companie, As daunger of this stormie time requires. Father, thy face should harbor no deceit, O hadst thou euer beene a king, thy hart Pierced deeply with sence of my distresse, Could not but take compassion of my state, Stately and proud, in riches and in traine, Whilom I was powerfull and full of pompe, But what is he, whome rule and emperie Haue not in life or death made miserable? Come Spencer, come Baldocke, come sit downe by me, Make triall now of that philosophie, That in our famous nurseries of artes Thou suckedst from Plato, and from Aristotle. Father, this life contemplatiue is heauen, O that I might this life in quiet lead, But we alas are chaste, and you my friends, Your liues and my dishonor they pursue Yet gentle monkes, for treasure, golde nor fee, Do you betray vs and our companie. Your grace may sit secure, if none but wee doe wot of your abode. Not one aliue, but shrewdly I suspect, A gloomie fellow in a meade belowe, A gaue a long looke after vs my lord, And all the land I know is vp in armes, Armes that pursue our liues with deadly hate. We were imbarkt for Ireland, wretched we, With awkward windes, and sore tempests driuen To fall on shoare, and here to pine in feare Of Mortimer and his confederates. Mortimer, who talkes of Mortimer, Who wounds me with the name of Mortimer That bloudy man? good father on thy lap Lay I this head, laden with mickle care, O might I neuer open these eyes againe, Neuer againe lift vp this drooping head, O neuer more lift vp this dying hart!