Marlowe, Christopher · published 1594 · first performed or written 1592 [1591-1593] (Annals) history · Pembroke's Men T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an typicality 0.87 · 499 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
Spencer, I see our souls are fleeted hence, We are deprived the sunshine of our life, Make for a new life man, throw up thy eyes, And heart and hand to heavens immortal throne, Pay nature's debt with cheerful countenance, Reduce we all our lessons unto this, To die sweet Spencer, therefore live we all, Spencer, all live to die, and rise to fall. Come, come, keep these preachments till you come to the place appointed You, and such as you are, have made wise work in England. Will your Lordships away? Your worship I trust will remember me? Remember thee fellow? what else, Follow me to the town. Be patient good my lord, cease to lament, Imagine Killingworth castle were your court, And that you lay for pleasure here a space, Not of compulsion or necessity. Leister, if gentle words might comfort me, Thy speeches long ago had eased my sorrows, For kind and loving hast thou always been: The griefs of private men are soon allayed, But not of kings, the forest dear being struck Runs to an herb that closeth up the wounds, But when the imperial lion's flesh is gored, He rends and tears it with his wrathful paw, Highly scorning, that the lowly earth Should drink his blood, mounts up into the air, And so it fares with me, whose dauntless mind The ambitious Mortimer would seek to curb, And that unnatural Queen false Isabell, That thus hath pent and mewed me in a prison, For such outrageous passions cloy my soul, As with the wings of rancour and disdain, Full often am I souring up to heaven, To plain me to the gods against them both. But when I call to mind I am a king, methinks I should revenge me of the wrongs, That Mortimer and Isabell have done. But what are kings, when regiment is gone, But perfect shadows in a sunshine day? My nobles rule, I bear the name of king, I wear the crown, but am controlled by them, By Mortimer, and my unconstant Queen, Who spots my nuptial bed with infamy, Whilst I am lodged within this cave of care, Where sorrow at my elbow still attends, To company my heart with sad laments, That bleeds within me for this strange exchange. But tell me, must I now resign my crown, To make usurping Mortimer a king? Your grace mistakes, it is for England's good, And princely Edward's right we crave the crown. No, 'tis for Mortimer, not Edward's head, For he's a lamb, encompassed by Wolves, Which in a moment will abridge his life: But if proud Mortimer do wear this crown, Heavens turn it to a blaze of quenchless fire, Or like the snaky wreath of Tisiphon, Engirt the temples of his hateful head, So shall not England's Vines be perished, But Edward's name survives, though Edward dies. My lord, why waste you thus the time away, They stay your answer, will you yield your crown?
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: T6 — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
Spencer, I see our soules are fleeted hence, We are depriude the sun-shine of our life, Make for a new life man, throw vp thy eyes, And hart and hand to heauens immortall throne, Pay natures debt with cheerefull countenance, Reduce we all our lessons vnto this, To die sweet Spencer, therefore liue wee all, Spencer, all liue to die, and rise to fall. Come, come, keepe these preachments till you come to the place appointed You, and such as you are, haue made wise worke in England. Will your Lordships away? Your worship I trust will remember me? Remember thee fellow? what else, Follow me to the towne. Be patient good my lord, cease to lament, Imagine Killingworth castell were your court, And that you lay for pleasure here a space, Not of compulsion or neceissitie. Leister, if gentle words might comfort me, Thy speeches long agoe had easde my sorrowes, For kinde and louing hast thou alwaies beene: The greefes of priuate men are soone allayde, But not of kings, the forrest Deare being strucke Runnes to an herbe that closeth vp the wounds, But when the imperiall Lions flesh is gorde, He rends and teares it with his wrathfull pawe, Highly scorning, that the lowly earth Should drinke his bloud, mounts vp into the ayre, And so it fares with me, whose dauntlesse minde The ambitious Mortimer would seeke to curbe, And that vnnaturall Queene false Isabell, That thus hath pent and mu'd me in a prison, For such outragious passions cloye my soule, As with the wings of rancor and disdaine, Full often am I sowring vp to heauen, To plaine me to the gods against them both. But when I call to minde I am a king, Me thinkes I should reuenge me of the wronges, That Mortimer and Isabell haue done. But what are kings, when regiment is gone, But perfect shadowes in a sun-shine day? My nobles rule, I beare the name of king, I weare the crowne, but am contrould by them, By Mortimer, and my vnconstant Queene, Who spots my nuptiall bed with infamie, Whilst I am lodgd within this caue of care, Where sorrow at my elbow still attends, To companie my hart with sad laments, That bleedes within me for this strange exchange. But tell me, must I now resigne my crowne, To make vsurping Mortimer a king? Your grace mistakes, it is for Englands good, And princely Edwards right we craue the crowne. No, tis for Mortimer, not Edwards head, For hees a lambe, encompassed by Woolues, Which in a moment will abridge his life: But if proud Mortimer do weare this crowne, Heauens turne it to a blaze of quenchelesse fier, Or like the snakie wreathe of Tisiphon, Engirt the temples of his hatefull head, So shall not Englands Vines be perished, But Edwards name suruiues, though Edward dies. My lord, why waste you thus the time away, They stay your answer, will you yeeld your crowne?