Shakespeare, William · published 1623 · first performed or written 1595 (Annals) tragedy; history · Lord Chamberlain's (Hunsdon's) Men unassigned nearest T53 The crown: kingship claimed, resigned an · 490 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T53: crown, king, state, life, lord, lords, live, queen, tullia, prince.
Fear not my Lord, that Power that made you King Hath power to keep you King, in spite of all. He means, my Lord, that we are too remiss, Whilst Bullingbrooke through our security, Grows strong and great, in substance and in friends. Discomfortable Cousin, knowest 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 bloody here: But when from under this Terrestrial Ball He fires the proud tops of the Eastern Pines, And darts his Lightning 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 Bullingbrooke, Who all this while hath reuelled in the Night, 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 selfe-affrighted, tremble at his sin. Not all the Water in the rough rude Sea Can wash the Balm from an anointed King; The breath of worldly men cannot depose The Deputy elected by the Lord: For every man that Bullingbrooke hath pressed, To lift shrewd Steel against our Golden Crown, Heaven for his Richard hath in heavenly pay A glorious Angel: then if Angels fight, Weak men must fall, for Heaven still guards the right. Welcome my Lord, how far off lies your Power? Nor near, nor farther off, my gracious Lord, Then this weak arm; discomfort guides my tongue, And bids me speak of nothing but despair: One day too late, I fear (my Noble Lord) Hath clouded all thy happy days on Earth: Oh call back Yesterday, bid Time return, And thou shalt have twelve thousand fight men: To day, to day, unhappy day too late Overthrow thy joys, Friends, Fortune, and thy State; For all the Welshmen hearing thou wert dead, Are gone to Bullingbrooke, dispersed, and fled. Comfort my Liege, why looks your Grace so pale? But now the blood of twenty thousand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled, And till so much blood thither come again, Have I not reason to look pale, and dead? All Souls that will be safe, fly from my side, For Time hath set a blot upon my pride. Comfort my Liege, remember who you are. I had forgot myself. Am I not King? Awake thou sluggard Majesty, thou sleepest: Is not the King's Name forty thousand Names? Arm, arm my Name: a puny subject strikes At thy great glory. Look not to the ground, Ye Favourites of a King: are we not high? High be our thoughts: I know my Uncle York Hath Power enough to serve our turn. But who comes here? More health and happiness betide my Liege, Then can my care-tuned tongue deliver him
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)
Feare not my Lord, that Power that made you King Hath power to keepe you King, in ſpight of all. He meanes, my Lord, that we are too remiſſe, Whileſt Bullingbrooke through our ſecuritie, Growes ſtrong and great, in ſubſtance and in friends. Diſcomfortable Couſin, knoweſt thou not, That when the ſearching Eye of Heauen is hid Behind the Globe, that lights the lower World, Then Theeues and Robbers raunge abroad vnſeene, In Murthers and in Out-rage bloody here: But when from vnder this Terreſtriall Ball He fires the prowd tops of the Eaſterne Pines, And darts his Lightning through eu'ry guiltie 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 Theefe, this Traytor Bullingbrooke, Who all this while hath reuell'd in the Night, Shall ſee vs riſing in our Throne, the Eaſt, His Treaſons will ſit bluſhing in his face, Not able to endure the ſight of Day; But ſelfe-affrighted, tremble at his ſinne. Not all the Water in the rough rude Sea Can waſh the Balme from an anoynted King; The breath of worldly men cannot depoſe The Deputie elected by the Lord: For euery man that Bullingbrooke hath preſt, To lift ſhrewd Steele againſt our Golden Crowne, Heauen for his Richard hath in heauenly pay A glorious Angell: then if Angels fight, Weake men muſt fall, for Heauen ſtill guards the right. Welcome my Lord, how farre off lyes your Power? Nor neere, nor farther off, my gracious Lord, Then this weake arme; diſcomfort guides my tongue, And bids me ſpeake of nothing but deſpaire: One day too late, I feare (my Noble Lord) Hath clouded all thy happie dayes on Earth: Oh call backe Yeſterday, bid Time returne, And thou ſhalt haue twelue thouſand fighting men: To day, to day, vnhappie day too late Orethrowes thy Ioyes, Friends, Fortune, and thy State; For all the Welchmen hearing thou wert dead, Are gone to Bullingbrooke, diſperſt, and fled. Comfort my Liege, why lookes your Grace ſo pale? But now the blood of twentie thouſand men Did triumph in my face, and they are fled, And till ſo much blood thither come againe, Haue I not reaſon to looke pale, and dead? All Soules that will be ſafe, flye from my ſide, For Time hath ſet a blot vpon my pride. Comfort my Liege, remember who you are. I had forgot my ſelfe. Am I not King? Awake thou ſluggard Maieſtie, thou ſleepeſt: Is not the Kings Name fortie thouſand Names? Arme, arme my Name: a punie ſubiect ſtrikes At thy great glory. Looke not to the ground, Ye Fauorites of a King: are wee not high? High be our thoughts: I know my Vnckle Yorke Hah Power enough to ſerue our turne. But who comes here? More health and happineſſe betide my Liege, Then can my care-tun'd tongue deliuer him