Shakespeare, William · published 1597 · first performed or written 1595 (Annals) tragedy; history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 443 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
The King is come, deal mildly with his youth, For young hot colts being raged, do rage the more. How fares our noble uncle Lancaster? What comfort man? how ist with aged Gaunt? O how that name befits my composition! Old Gaunt indeed, and gaunt in being old: Within me Grief hath kept a tedious fast. And who abstains from meat that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time have I watched, Watching breeds leanness, leanness is all gaunt: The pleasure that some fathers feed upon Is my strict fast; I mean my children's looks, And therein fasting haste thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the grave, gaunt as a grave, Whose hollow womb inherits nought but bones. Can sick men play so nicely with their names? No misery makes sport to mock itself, Since thou dost seek to kill my name in me. I mock my name (great King) to flatter thee. Should dying men flatter with those that live? No no, men living flatter those that die. Thou now a dying sayest thou flatterest me. Oh no, thou diest, though I the sicker be. I am in health, I breath, and see thee ill. Now he that made me knows I see thee ill, Ill in myself to see, and in thee, seeing ill. Thy deathbed is no lesser than thy land, Wherein thou liest in reputation sick, And thou too careless patient as thou art Commitst thy anointed body to the cure Of those Physicians that first wounded thee, A thousand flatterers sit within thy Crown, Whose compass is no bigger than thy head, And yet enraged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land: Oh had thy grandsire with a Prophet's eye, Seen how his sons son should destroy his sons. From forth thy reach he would have laid thy shame. Deposing thee before thou wert possessed, Which art possessed now to depose thyself: Why cousin wert thou regent of the world. It were a shame to let this land by lease: But for thy world enjoying but this land, Is it not more than shame to shame it so? Landlord of England art thou now, 〈◊〉 not King, Thy state of law is bondslave to the law, And thou A lunatic lean-witted fool, Presuming on an agues privilege, Darest with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheek, chase the royal blood With fury from his native residence. Now by my seats right royal majesty, Wert thou not brother to great Edward's son, This tongue that runs so roundly in thy head, Should run thy head from thy unreverent shoulders.
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)
The King is come, deale mildely with his youth, For young hot colts being ragde, do rage the more. How fares our noble vncle Lancaster? What comfort man? how st with aged Gaunt? O how that befits my composition! Old indeede, and gaunt in being olde: With Griefe hath kept a tedious fast. And who abtaines froneate that is not gaunt? For sleeping England long time haue I watcht, Watching breedes leanenesse, leanenesse is all gaunt: The pleasure that some fathers feede vpon Is my strict fast; I meane my childrens lookes, And therein fasting hast thou made me gaunt: Gaunt am I for the graue, gaunt as a graue, Whose hollow wombe inherites naught but bones. Can sicke men play so nicely with their names? No misery makes sport to mocke it selfe, Since thou dost seeke to kill my name in me. I mocke my name (great King) to flatter thee. Should dying men flatter with those that liue? No no, men liuing flatter those that die. Thou now a dying sayest thou flatterest me. Oh no, thou diest, though I the icker be. I am in health, I breathe, and see thee ill. Now he that made me knowes I see thee ill, Ill in my selfe to see, and in thee, seeing ill. Thy death-bed is no lesser than thy land, Wherein thou liest in reputation sicke, And thou too carelesse pacient as thou art Commitst thy annoynted body to the cure Of those Physitions that first wounded thee, A thousand flatterers sit within thy Crowne, Whose compasse is no bigger than thy head, And yet inraged in so small a verge, The waste is no whit lesser than thy land: Oh had thy grandire with a Prophets eie, Seene how his sonnes sonne should destroy his sonnes. From forth thy reach he would haue laid thy shame. Deposing thee before thou wert possest, Which art possest now to depose thy selfe: Why cousin wert thou regent of the world. It were a shame to let this land by lease: But for thy world enioying but this land, Is it not more than shame to shame it so? Landlord of England art thou now, not King, Thy state of lawe is bondslaue to the lawe, And thou A lunatike leane-witted foole, Presuming on an agues priuledge, Darest with thy frozen admonition Make pale our cheeke, chasing the royall bloud With urie from his natiue residence. Now by my seates right royall maiestie, Wert thou not brother to great Edwards sonne, This tong that runnes so roundly in thy head, Should runne thy head from thy vnreuerent shoulders.