Shakespeare, William · published 1597 · first performed or written 1595 (Annals) tragedy; history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T18 Rebels, barons and the king's wars at ho · 514 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T18: king, lord, wallace, earl, edward, england, scotland, rebels, bruce, english.
Thanks (gentle uncle:) Come Lords, away, To fight with Glendor and his complices, A while to work, and after holiday. Barkloughly castle call they this at hand? Yea my Lord, How brooks your Grace the air▪ After your late tossing on the breaking seas? Needs must I like it well, I weep for joy▪ To stand upon my kingdom once again: Dear earth I do salute thee with my hand, Though rebels wound thee with their horses hooves: As a long parted mother with her child Plays fond with her tears and smiles in meeting; So weeping, smiling greet I thee my earth, And do thee favours with my royal hands; Feed not thy Sovereign's foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense, But let thy Spiders that suck up thy venom, And heavy-gated toads lie in their way, Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet, Which with usurping steps do trample thee, Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies: And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, Guard it I pray thee with a lurking Adder, Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch, Throw death upon thy▪ sovereigns enemies, Mock not my senseless conjuration Lords, This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones, Prove armed soldiers ere her native King, Shall falter under foul rebellions arms. Fear not my Lord, that power that made you king▪ Hath power to keep you king in spite of all, The means that heavens yield must be embraced And not neglected. Else heaven would, And we will not, heavens offer, we refuse, The proffered means of succours and redress. He means my Lo: that we are too remiss, Whilst Bulling brook through our security, Grows strong and great in substance and in power. Discomfortable Cousin know'st thou not, That when the searching eye of heaven is hid, Behind the globe that lights the lower world, Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, In murders and in outrage bouldy here, But when from under this terrestrial ball, He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, And darts his light through every guilty hole, Then murders, treasons and detested sins, The cloak of night being plucked from off their backs, Stand bare and naked trembling at themselves? So when this thief, this traitor Bulling brook, Who all this while hath reveld in the night, Whilst we were wandering with the Antipodes▪ Shall see us rising in our throne the east, His treasons will sit blushing in his face, Not able to endure the sight of day, But self affrighted tremble at his sin, Not all the water in the rough rude sea, Can wash the balm off from an anointed King, The breath of worldly men cannot depose, The deputy elected by the Lord, For every man that Bullingbrooke hath priest, To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, God for his Ric: hath in heavenly pay, A glorious Angel; then if Angel's fight, Weak men must fall, for heaven still guards the right. Welcome my Lo: how far off lies your power?
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)
Thankes (gentle vncle:) Come Lords, away, To fight with Glendor and his complices, A while to worke, and after holiday. Barkloughly castle call they this at hand? Yea my Lord, How brookes your Grace the ayre▪ After your late tossing on the breaking seas? Needes must I like it well, I weepe for ioy▪ To stand vpon my kingdome once againe: Deere earth I do salute thee with my hand, Though rebels wound thee with their horses hoofes: As a long parted mother with her childe Playes fondly with her teares and smiles in meeting; So weeping, smiling greete I thee my earth, And do thee fauours with my royall hands; Feede not thy Soueraignes foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweetes comfort his rauenous sence, But let thy Spiders that sucke vp thy venome, And heauy-gated toades lie in theyr way, Doing annoyance to the treacherous feete, Which with vsurping steps do trample thee, Yeelde stinging nettles to mine enemies: And when they from thy bosome plucke a flower, Guard it I pray thee with a lurking Adder, Whose double tongue may wyth a mortall touch, Throwe death vpon thy▪ enemies, Mocke not my sencels coniuration Lords, This earth shall haue a feeling, and these stones, Proue armed souldiers ere her natiue King, Shall faulter vnder foule rebellions armes. Feare not my Lord, that power that made you king▪ Hath power to keepe you king in spight of all, The meanes that heauens yeeld must be imbrac't And not neglected. Else heauen would, And we will not, heauens offer, we refuse, The profered meanes of succors and redresse. He meanes my Lo: that we are too remisse, Whilst Bulling brooke through our security, Growes strong and great in substance and in power. Discomfortable Coosen knowst thou not, That when the searching eie of heauen is hid, Behinde the globe that lights the lower world, Then theeues and robbers range abroad vnseene, In murthers and in outrage bouldy here, But when from vnder this terrestriall ball, He fires the proud tops of the easterne pines, And dartes his light through euery guilty hole, Then murthers, treasons and detested sinnes, The cloake of night being pluckt from off their backs, Stand bare and naked trembling at themselues? So when this thiefe, this traitor Bulling brooke, Who all this while hath reueld in the night, VVhilst we were wandring with the Antipodes▪ Shall see vs rising in our throne the east, His treasons will sit blushing in his face, Not able to endure the ight of day, But selfe affrighted tremble at his sinne, Not all the water in the rough rude sea, Can wash the balme off from an annointed King, The breath of worldly men cannot depose, The deputy elected by the Lord, For euery man that Bullingbrooke hath prest, To lifte shrewd steele against our golden crowne, God for his Ric: hath in heauenly pay, A glorious Angell; then i Agels fight, Weake men must all, for heauen still gardes the right. Wlcome my Lo: how far off lies your power?